


Countless Ways

by Mothia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Halloween, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Selkie, Demons AU, F/F, Fluff, Halloween AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Selkie AU, Shorts, hellhound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-11-18 06:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18115340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothia/pseuds/Mothia
Summary: A collection of Pharmercy shorts set in various AUs. Fluffy, fun, and self-indulgent things.The specific AU for each short will be listed in the summary, so you can hopefully flip through them pretty quickly if you're looking for something in particular. Those in the same universe will be titled and numbered accordingly.





	1. How Lucky for You

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for something similar but more canon-compliant, and can tolerate a shameless self-plug, I'd like to direct you towards [Your Bird Wife](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484354/chapters/25757400)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween AU
> 
> Fareeha Amari is a young adventurer. The Witch of the Wilds is who she always is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one in particular is the reason that the chapters aren't just titled with the name of the AU—There are a lot of different potential takes on the Halloween AU, and I think they're all fascinating, but ultimately mutually exclusive. So I didn't want them to be grouped together like that.

The first time she met the fabled Witch of the Wilds was in the summer under the pine trees, needles soft, feathery, and dark, with golden coins of sunlight pooling between their boughs. The air had been laced with the smell of sap and soil.

“Good morning,” the Witch had said. Her voice was airy, mild. Casual.

She had just stood there, mind racing, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t think under that even gaze. The Witch had tilted her head and languidly raised one perfect eyebrow.

“Morning,” she had choked out. Her mother’s advice had echoed in the back of her head.  _ Stay away from the Things that live in the woods.  _ She shut her mouth and clenched her jaw.

The witch had smiled a honeyed smile. Sweet, smooth, and warm-looking. “Do you… want something?” Fareeha swore she had seen a flicker of green in those dark eyes. The shadows felt too cold. She had hesitated.

_ Yes.  _ “No.” The Witch was unblinking. “Nothing at all.”

“How lucky,” the Witch had murmured, “for you.”

 

The second time she met the Witch, she was screaming, and there was blood, and it was autumn but it didn’t feel like it, and they were under pine trees again, but these ones were much taller, much sharper, and much less friendly. There was fire the Witch’s eyes, lime green and crackling.

The shadow behind her stepped forward. A jagged gash of a mouth dripped sparks onto the damp carpet of needles. Fareeha eyed the smoldering spots and wished that the morning frost had been thicker. The creature took another step forward, now looming over the Witch. It stared down at her with glowing, blank eyes.

Something told Fareeha to put herself between it and the Witch. She raised her blade, a weak band of light against the darkness. The thing turned its shining, dead eyes on her. She held her ground and stared right back. It seemed unimpressed. And impatient. It made as if to barge forward, when, with a jerk of the head, it looked over her shoulder, flickered, then drew back, back into the night.

Fareeha turned. The Witch of the Wilds had stopped making any sort of noise. Her palm glowed, turned inward and pulsing a soft yellow. Her eyes, now dull, stared unfocused into distance.

Fareeha took a hesitant step forward. The Witch’s gaze snapped to her, and the fire and clarity was back in her eyes. “You,” she hissed.

Fareeha waited. Nothing. She was staring. She wanted something. Fareeha wet her lips and took a second step. Then a third. A fourth. She stood over the Witch now, lying bloodstained at her feet. She didn’t know what else to do, but offer out her hand. “Are you alright?”

The Witch’s eyes slid from her face down to her proffered hand, then back up again. “No.” One dark, gloved hand shot out and grabbed her by the forearm, the strength of her grip nearly pulling Fareeha to the ground. “I want something.”


	2. Seashells I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selkie AU
> 
> Fareeha, former sailor, now fisherman, carpenter, and amateur artist lives alone on the coast. She loves the ocean. The ocean, as it turns out, loves her back, and they’re both just recklessness enough to make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I know I said "shorts" and this is a bit long for that. I tried to be concise, I really did.

She lived where the river met the sea, and the sky reached down the tangle the water’s hair. She often walked down to watch to waves, and some days, when the weather was good, she took off her shoes and rolled up the cuffs of her pants and waded into the surf to pick up seashells, the sand breathing like forge bellows with every lap of the tide.

When the weather wasn’t good, she stood back and let the sea rage and weep, and thought to herself that it happens, that maybe she should just come back tomorrow, but she always stayed to admire the waves in their power for just as long as she stayed and admired them in their peace. She still picked up seashells, if she could find them.

She always thought it was a shame that she wasn’t an artist, because the sea and all the things in it were, if not beautiful, at the very least wonderfully interesting. She did have a sketchbook—a journal really, messy and water stained, and some charcoal pencils (she used to make the journey up the river into town to buy them, but then she figured out how to make them herself)—but she was never all that good at it. She still tried though, poking at the seaweed on the shore, or wandering over the flat, dark stones on the southern side of the beach and peering into the shadows of the tide pools to see what had washed in that day, then standing there, brow furrowed, trying to capture some of that lively magic. It was hard, and it never quite worked out like she wanted to.

Perhaps that’s why it took her so long to notice.

 

She lived where the sea met the river, and the cold waters reached up to lace fingers with the air. She often swam up to watch the land, curious about how the stones changed colors in the sun, or how the bands of seaweed and brown foam marked the tides, the beach a slate that was washed clean every day. Some days, when the sun was out and she felt like indulging herself, she hauled herself out of the water to bask in the warmth of the earth for a bit before she had to return to the cold, swirling depths again. She was always nervous about it. There was a human around, after all. 

She could have gone to another beach. A less inhabited one. But the stones at this one were nice and dark, good for soaking up the sun, and, privately, she might have lingered for some other reasons as well. Or one reason, rather. When the storms came in, she ran less of a risk of being seen. She could sometimes get closer if she wanted. The human was sensible enough to be wary in the face of a gale, but, remarkably, seemed just as sturdy and curious as ever.

It was a funny thing. One reason for the sun. One reason for the storm. And, sometimes, a time for both. It was better than both, because then she could see the sun on her skin, or watch the way she furrowed her eyebrows and squinted with concentration, and brushed smudges of charcoal from her fingers to cheeks when she wasn’t thinking, or catch the thoughtful way she looked at creatures of the tide and let herself melt just this once, just this once… It was greedy. She knew she would get caught some day.

 

“Hello?” Fareeha lifted her pencil from the paper and squinted. She stood up. The stones were still. She began to carefully pick her way towards the ledge. There had been something there.

Angela clapped her hand to her mouth, hugged her knees to her chest, and pressed herself under the shallow overhang, ignoring the rock digging into her back, trying to quell the icy, numbing panic in her chest. “Hello?” The voice came again, much closer. Angela jerked her head around, and their eyes locked.

Strange things appeared on the shore sometimes, brought in by the currents. Usually it was just junk. Bottles or shoes with barnacles stuck to them. Even bodies, sometimes, of things from the deeper sea, bigger than the fish that swam the shallows. On one occasion, a whale had appeared on the beach. Fareeha never expected to find a woman. She had sea eyes, cool and blue and brilliant, and windswept, white-gold hair, worn loose around her shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. It was damp, and clung to her face in parts, almost covering one eye. The one Fareeha could see was wide, stark, dilated and staring. She radiated terror like a proverbial deer in headlights. “Are you alright?” Fareeha’s eyes slipped down. She cleared her throat and looked away, fighting down the rising heat in her cheeks. “Do you need clothes?”

She was about to ask if she would rather be left alone instead, when a small voice reached her ears. “That would be nice.”

“Right. I’ll… be right back.” She scrambled back, almost tripping over the rocks. The sand was equally treacherous to run on, as loose and slippery as it was when it had been drying in the sun all day. She broke into a sprint as soon as she hit grass and pebbles.

She half expected the strange woman to be gone when she returned. She was not. Her hair had dried some more, become equal parts frizzy and crusted with crystalized salt. She was in the middle of combing those crystals out, but as soon as she saw Fareeha appear, she wrapped her arms around her knees, pulled them close again, and sent only flickering glances in Fareeha’s direction.

Fareeha only saw some of them over the pile of clothes in her arms. “Sorry, I didn’t know if…” She dropped them on the sand and turned around. “I hope they’re okay.”

Angela stared, then slowly, tentatively, reached out to touch the fabric at the top of the pile. It was soft. And warm. She pulled it closer, held it to her chest, and looked it over. “It’s nice,” she said, quietly.

It was halfway through that Angela realized she had absolutely no idea how to put them on. It should be simple, or so she thought, and yet it took an embarrassing several minutes to even get the first part on the right way. Or she thought it was the right way, anyways. She was pretty sure the buttons went down the front.

Some time after she stopped hearing the shuffling of fabric, Fareeha coughed. “Do you mind if I turn around?”

“That’s fine.” Fareeha turned to see her smoothing down the front of her too-big shirt. She looked up at her, eyes and voice still equally shy. “Thank you.”

“No… problem.” Fareeha looked away again and rubbed the back of her neck. The waves crashed on the shore. Angela, too, looked away, more preoccupied with plucking at the cuffs of the shirt and wondering why they seemed to be intended to be rolled up at all times. She also wondered if it was alright to roll them up a little further, or if that would be rude for whatever reason.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Angela froze. Fareeha looked over at her again. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” Angela stuttered and cast her gaze around, searching for a good excuse. “I was… I mean…”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to say, but I tend to get nervous when mysterious women wash up on the beach without their clothes.” Fareeha raised her hands placatingly. “So if you need help…”

Angela’s  brow furrowed. “Does that happen often?”

“What?”

“Mysterious women washing up on the beach.”

“Admittedly, you’re the first.”

“Oh.” Perhaps Fareeha was just imagining things, but she sounded almost pleased about that. She blinked owlishly at Fareeha, carefully tugging the sleeves of her borrowed shirt up. “I didn’t wash up, you know.”

“That’s good at lea—”

“I swam.”

Now it was Fareeha’s turn to blink and say “Oh.” She wondered if she ought to ask from where. She had an accent that Fareeha didn’t completely recognize.

Her eyes drifted to the notebook still clutched in Fareeha’s hands, and her eyes lit up. “Oh, wait!” She scrambled somewhat awkwardly over the chest-high ledge and began to half hop, half slide between the tide pools, stopping occasionally to look at them. Fareeha watched curiously.

“Here!” She waved Fareeha over, then reached into the water, cupping her hands. Fareeha followed her obligingly, stopping to peer into her hands when she got close enough.

A small, brightly colored snake peered back at her. “That’s—” She broke off. “Be careful!”

“I will.” Angela smiled down at the little snake. “They’re kind of shy, aren’t they?”

“And very toxic, I’m pretty sure.”

“Oh, yes, that too. They cause paralysis.” Angela crossed her legs and lowered herself to a more comfortable seated position. She seemed unperturbed, rather, much to Fareeha’s alarm, lowering her head to talk to it. “What are you doing, this close to shore? Did you get stuck?” The snake didn’t seem to pay her any mind.

After spending a few minutes alternating between spluttering in disbelief and pacing in anxious circles, Fareeha finally sat down and began to draw when she realized that neither woman nor snake seemed to be paying her any attention. It was a striking animal, at the very least, and she would probably never see one this close ever again.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when the snake was released back into the water. Fareeha watched it go, its tail disappearing into the shadowy crags between the rocks. “How..?”

Angela shook her head. “Nevermind that.” She stood up. “But I should go.”

“Oh, of course.”  Fareeha got up, narrowly missing scraping her elbow. She brushed sand off her pants. Some drip of recklessness surged within her. “Will you tell me your name?”

The woman looked around, clearly surprised. “I—”

“Sorry! I should introduce myself first.” Fareeha extended a hand. “I’m Fareeha.”

She received a look of intense consternation. She turned her head towards the sea and was silent for a long time, and Fareeha’s hope faltered. “Angela.” The name came in between the rush of the waves.

“That’s a nice name.” Fareeha slipped her hand back into her pocket, trying to save face. “Good luck, wherever you go.” She cleared her throat. “You can, uh, keep the clothes, if you want.” For that, she was rewarded with a gentle smile.

Angela walked up the beach and behind the distant cliffs, and then Fareeha was alone again. She watched the spot where she had disappeared for several long minutes, then turned away. She was restless, speculation about this strange woman that called herself “Angela” rudely interrupting her thoughts at every turn.

Fareeha went home early, kicking some pebbles on the path as she went. She returned to the beach in the evening. It was empty.

 

She returned the following day, and again, the beach was empty. She stayed late this time, pacing along the shore, wondering. She came back to find her clothes folded, if not neatly then at least carefully, and piled on her windowsill. They smelled of fish and saltwater. She found a scallop shell in one of the pockets, small and peach colored with frilled, pink edges. She kept it by the window.

It rained for the next few days after that, and the world smeared into curtains of grey. Fareeha walked down to the beach the first day, but after that the rain got heavier and she decided to stay home, subsiding mostly on whatever salted fish and vegetables she had stored away. She took the opportunity to do some housekeeping, dusting, wiping, washing, arranging, rearranging. When she ran out of ways to arrange her small collection of books, she sat by the fire, alternating between drawing, reading, and whittling little charms to keep her hands busy.

 

A week later, Fareeha saw a figure on the beach, and her heart leapt, and then she was closer and yes, it was her, Angela was back, and again she seemed to be missing clothes, so Fareeha was running back home again, and when she came back she had a shirt and pants and a hat (“You look like you would burn easily”) in her arms, and a tiny bit of carved driftwood in her pocket.

Angela gave her a puzzled look when she was presented with it, but then she grinned, a bright, toothy grin. “It’s a nautilus!” And then she took it in her hands and ran her thumb over the shell, and then she said “You even did the stripes,” and there was a child-like wonder in her voice that put a curious warmth in Fareeha’s chest.

“I had a lot of time on my hands, what with the weather,” she explained. “The shells wash up on shore sometimes. They’re generally small.”

“They get pretty big, actually.” Angela held out her hand. “As wide across as your hand, sometimes.”

“Really?” Fareeha raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen any bigger than a large coin.”

Angela looked thoughtful at that. “I guess it makes sense. This is a bit far north for them, and the bigger ones are less common.”

“Well then, I’d like to see one, some day.” Fareeha nodded at the charm. “You can keep it, if you want.”

Angela slipped it into her pocket, thumb still rubbing circles over its surface. They set out together across the beach, and made small talk until the sun went down. Angela was smart when it came to the water and the waves and the things that lived in it, incredibly so, but she seemed rather perplexed about almost everything else. Fareeha thought she saw a look of understanding and relief flood her eyes when she referred to clothes as pants and shirts, and when she went for a handshake again she received the same nervous, confused look as before.

“Handshake?” She asked.

Angela shot her a worried look. “What?” She seemed to trip over her words. “I mean… I don’t… We don’t have those where I’m from.”

“Oh,” Fareeha said. She must be from far away. That explained a few things. “Just grab my hand, and…” She pulled their clasped hands into a quick up and down motion and let go.

“I see.” Angela curiously examined her own hand, as if something might have changed.

“We use it for greetings, or farewells, or to seal a deal.” Fareeha laughed, more to alleviate her own awkwardness than anything else. “It does seem kind of odd, now that I think about it. Do you have anything like that?”

Angela blinked, again in that owlish way of hers. “We just wave.”

“Oh. We do that too.”

“I noticed.”

“Ah.” Fareeha toed the sand, drawing shallow lines and trying to avoid her eyes. “That’s probably easier.”

“Handshakes don’t seem hard.” Her voice was playful. “I’ll try my best next time.” Then she was gone again, back up the shore and around the black cliffs. The next night, the borrowed clothes appeared on Fareeha’s windowsill again, though the wooden charm had been removed from the pocket, to be replaced with a cowrie shell.

She came back the next week with a large, round, white and orange striped shell, looking quite pleased with herself, and looking even more pleased at the look on Fareeha’s face when she saw it. True to her word, it was about as wide as her hand from the tip of her middle finger to the base of her palm. Angela assured her that it was quite empty, and at the end of the day Fareeha took it home and put it next to her window also, next to the other shells from before. 

She spent the next day gathering driftwood, hunting around the rocks and caves where the branches often got stuck, and she spent the rest of that evening and the next carving a simple stand to hold the shell up. The next time she went into town, she got a small glass jar and put the smaller two shells into it, so she wouldn’t lose them. She smiled at the shells in the morning when she left, and in the evening when she came back.

They settled into a routine. Every week, sometime before dawn and noon, Angela would appear on the beach, and Fareeha would wave and laugh and give her some clothes (after the third time she just took them with her, to save the running back and forth), and then Angela would give her a handshake with such a look of determination that Fareeha would laugh again.

“Am I doing it wrong?” Angela would say, and Fareeha would shake her head no, which only seemed to confound her more. In the end Angela settled for just grabbing her and giving her hand a squeeze.

They mostly spent the days walking together, talking about things like the weather, or the waters (Angela once called them “current events”. She didn’t know why Fareeha thought that was so funny), or the stars. When the sun was out and the tide was low, they sometimes wandered the tide pools, and Fareeha would stand by and watch in wonder as Angela coaxed even the most skittish of creatures out into the open for her to draw. She sometimes sat in the bigger pools (after Fareeha said it was okay if she got her clothes wet), and the fish would come out to investigate her and swim around her until she got up again. The first time she did it, the resulting picture filled an entire page. Afterwards, Angela climbed out and laid down on the biggest stone with a hum of contentment, eyes closed, head pillowed on her arms, and Fareeha sat down next to her.

“They’ve lava, you know,” she said out loud.

Angela cracked an eye open. “What?”

“Or they were.” Fareeha touched the dark stone with her fingertips. “Molten rock, from deep under the ground.”

Angela thought about this. “How did it get from down there to up here?”

“Sometimes the ground splits open. Or sometimes are mountains that have magma at their core—volcanoes—and they spit it out.”

“Magma?”

“It’s called magma when it’s underground, but when it comes out of the ground it’s lava.”

“That seems unnecessary.”

Fareeha laughed. “Is it?”

“Well, is there a reason you distinguish between them?”

Fareeha didn’t have an answer for that. “I’m sure there is.”

“Hm.” She didn’t sound convinced. “I’ve heard of volcanoes though. And fissures. They’re related to thermal vents.”

“Thermal vents?”

“They’re vents on the ocean floor that issue hot water. Like magma, but water instead of rock.”

“You mean lava.”

“I don’t care.” Angela closed her eyes again. “All I care about is that they make nice sunbathing rocks.” Saying that, she fell asleep, leaving Fareeha to gently adjust her hat so it completely covered her face, and then sit there alone with her thoughts.

Angela looked radiant, so comfortable and peaceful in the afternoon light. Hesitantly, shyly, Fareeha opened her sketchbook, pulled a pencil from her pocket, and began to draw. It was still rough when Angela woke up, but Fareeha thought it wasn’t bad. She was getting better, at least.

She pulled a chunk of stale bread out of her pocket, wrapped in paper. She was halfway through it before she realized Angela was watching her. “Sorry,” she said, and tore off some of what remained. She offered her the bigger piece. “You must be hungry too.”

Angela accepted it without a word, and after a few testing nibbles, she wolfed it down with gusto. Fareeha watched her, amused. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you’ve never eaten bread before.”

Angela stiffened in the middle of licking stray crumbs off her fingertips. “It’s just not what I’m used to, that’s all.”

“Is that so?” Fareeha raised her eyebrow.

“Yes!” Angela huffed. “I mostly eat fish anyways.”

“You? Eat fish? You seem to get along with them so well.”

“The ones here are too small to eat. And they don’t mind anyways,” Angela said, as if that explained anything.

“They don’t mind?” Fareeha arched her eyebrow further.

“They understand, I mean.” She didn’t elaborate further. “The bread is good, though,” she added after a long pause.

“I could teach you how to make it sometime, if you want.”

Angela’s eyes sparkled at that. “I’d like that.” She grinned. “Maybe I can teach you how to fish in return.”

“I know how to fish, thank you very much.” Fareeha crossed her arms over her chest and gave her a mock scowl.

Angela shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

One morning found her running up and down the beach, laughing, and the sandpipers following her with the patter of their legs (or was she following them?) and Fareeha sat down and tried to capture her vivacity on paper, desperate to save this moment, but just like everything else it didn’t come out quite right, and in the end she lay down and grumbled to herself until Angela walked over and asked what was wrong.

Then she asked what she had been drawing, and Fareeha blushed and mumbled, “Birds.” She refused to let Angela see.

Every day in the end, in the afternoon or the evening, they would bid each other farewell, and Angela would walk all the way to her cliffs and turn the corner (Fareeha idly wondered where she went; as far as she knew there were nothing but jagged rocks and caves there), leaving only her footprints behind to be washed away by the waves, and Fareeha wouldn’t see her again until another week had passed. Her clothes would always appear on her windowsill the next evening, mostly dry and smelling of brine, with a new shell somewhere in the pockets or hidden in the folds. She slowly grew her collection with conch, tower, auger, cockle, moon, slipper, sand dollar, clam, tulip, and, an uncommon treat, abalone. Whenever she got one too big to fit in the jar, she made another stand for it. In the case of the abalone, she wondered if she could figure out a way to inlay the iridescent insides into something else. Her jar became a veritable mosaic of white, cream, orange, pink, blue, brown, grey, and even glints of purple and green.

She spent every day looking forward to the next, so naturally the summer passed faster than it ever had before, and then autumn. The sun began to set earlier and earlier, but Angela stayed the same amount of time as she always did, so they found other things to do instead of braving both the cold waters and the cold air. Fareeha would teach Angela how to draw pictures in the wet sand with scavenged sticks, or they would sit on the rocks and count the stars. Angela knew a lot about the stars, Fareeha found, almost as much as she knew about the ocean. She said she used them to guide her way.

When the air began to get truly cold, Angela seemed thoughtful and restless, and one day, just before winter came, she grabbed Fareeha by the hand and looked her in the eye and said, “I’ll be gone for a while.”

And Fareeha had wanted to ask why, but she supposed it was for the same reason that a lot of things moved during the winter. To follow the warmth. So she just asked if she was migrating for the winter, and Angela, in all seriousness, said yes.

Before she went though, she brought in fish from the sea, and a lot of it. It appeared in a woven net one night, and Fareeha quietly admitted that perhaps she did have something to learn from this woman about fishing after all, because this was comparable to a month’s work for her, and she swore some of those fish were the big and fast kind that frequented open waters. 

When she asked about it all the next day, Angela just shrugged nonchalantly and said “It’s nothing. I thought you might want it, in case the food gets scarce. Or you could sell them, right?”

Fareeha ran her fingers through her hair and thought about the repairs she needed to do, and how maybe the amount wasn’t excessive after all. “How did you even catch them?”

Angela turned to her, confusion flitting across her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Those are the kinds of fish that people go into the open ocean for. The kinds that need big boats and expensive equipment. How did you..?” She trailed off and stared open-mouthed at Angela. “You don’t have a boat, do you?”

Angela shook her head. “You don’t need a boat.” She seemed pleased, however. “Does that mean they’re expensive?”

“They can be.”

“Then I’ll try to get some more when I come back.”

Fareeha frowned then. “Are you leaving now?”

“More or less.”

She got anxious about that, because it was around this time of year that the weather started to get really unruly, and the winter storms were always the worst. “Is it safe?”

“I think so.” She said it with such serene certainty that Fareeha almost believed her, but it still gnawed at her gut throughout the day.

“Wait,” she finally said, at that final squeeze of a hand. Angela turned a puzzled gaze to her. She hurriedly ran her fingers through her hair, undoing one braid and removing one of her prized golden beads. She held it out. “For luck.”

Angela took it and rolled it between her fingers, then pocketed it, nodded, and mouthed a silent “Thank you,” before hurrying away. 

Fareeha went home and spent the next day storing what fish she could before taking the rest into town. She found a fishmonger that didn’t ask where it all came from, and gave her a fair price for it. She came back with some supplies and change to spare, so the house finally got fixed up just in time for winter.

Still, as cozy as it was, the shells by the window reminded her that it was lonelier than it had ever been before. She flipped through her journal, but that just made her think of how much she would have preferred the real thing. If the summer passed quickly, then the winter, by comparison, slowed to a crawl. At least she figured out how to inlay the nautilus stand with nacre from the abalones.

When the days started to get longer, she tugged on her coat and walked down to the beach every morning, and every morning that she found it empty only worried her more. The little whisper in the back of her mind grew. “She’s not coming back,” it hissed. “She’s dead, or dying, or lost, or she forgot about you, or she just doesn’t want to come back, or, or, or…”

So it was that when she saw that familiar figure waving at her from the tide pools, she almost sat down and started crying on the spot. Instead, she ran back home to get clothes again, and if Angela noticed her drying off her tears as she got closer, she didn’t comment on it.

Fareeha had a lot of things she wanted to say, but instead of saying any of them she just inquired into how her trip was.

“It was good,” Angela replied absentmindedly, stretching herself out on her favorite rock. “Nothing quite as nice as here though.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yes, well, your good luck worked, it seems.” Saying this, she fished a braid of of her hair and showed Fareeha the single bead on the end. Her fingers moved to it, but Fareeha touched her wrist, stopping her.

“Keep it.”

Angela raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Fareeha touched her own hair. “I have enough.”

Angela eyed her for a long moment, then let her hands drop. “Alright. Thank you.” After another long pause, she turned her head, propping her chin up on one hand. “What about you? You seem well. Was the winter alright?”

“Mostly.” She laughed. “Don’t give me that worried look. I’m fine. More than fine, even.”

Angela seemed to accept that, subsiding with a satisfied hum. Then she reached out and spent the next few minutes persuading a small octopus onto her palm.

They settled back into their routine again. When spring came proper, Fareeha brought some flowers from her garden down to the beach. Angela’s eyes widened when she saw them.

“Are those for me?”

“No, they’re for the gulls.” Fareeha snorted. “Of course they’re for you. From the garden.”

“You have a garden?” Angela took them and sniffed them delicately. She had a very satisfying smile.

“Yes. I grow vegetables, herbs, and a little bit of fruit.”

“And flowers.”

“And flowers,” she agreed. “You didn’t know?”

The tips of Angela’s ears turned pink. “No. It sounds nice though.”

“You should come see it.”

“Now?”

Fareeha shrugged. “We have time, don’t we?”

For some reason, Angela seemed anxious. “Maybe later? At the end of the day?”

Fareeha shrugged again. “If you want.” 

She forgot at the end of that day, but she remembered the following week, and Angela shyly allowed herself to be led up the pebble path to Fareeha’s home, and around the back to see her garden.

Fareeha, for her part, stood anxiously off to the side as Angela looked around and knelt to examine the plants. She had nothing to worry about, as it turned out; Angela was both impressed with and curious about all of it. So Fareeha ended up walking around with her, naming the plants as she went. That bunch over there was mint, good for making tea, next to that were sage and parsley, those thin vines were for beans, which were best in the summer, the thicker ones would yield pumpkins in the fall, that patch over there was for beets and carrots, and those shrubs were blackcurrant, while the ones on the opposite side were raspberries, which were where they were because the soil was drier and more well-drained in that section, and of so on and so forth.

Angela turned to her with laughter in her eyes. “Is everything you make so beautiful?” She asked.

Fareeha stuttered. “I—I didn’t make them, really, I just help them grow if they need it.” She pointed towards the gate. “Those are the flowers. I thought this place could use some color this time of year.”

“I think it’s magnificent either way.” She has a funny way of saying magnificent, like the word was addressed, arms spread, to the whole world. Perhaps it was.

Then she looked at the sun, getting lower in the sky, and frowned. “I should get going,” she said. She reached out to grab Fareeha’s hand and gave it a squeeze, as usual, then hurried down the path and out of sight.

The mint was still growing then, but Fareeha had some stored away, so the next week she excused herself in the evening and came back with two ceramic cups full of steaming tea. Angela wrapped her hands around her cup and sipped it and whispered, “It’s good.” They sat together and watched the sun go down.

Over time, Angela’s trepidation about walking up to Fareeha’s home seemed to fade, and Fareeha, true to her word, taught her how to make bread, and tea, and how to grow plants, and when the spring bled into summer they sat in the shade and Angela watched Fareeha make her little wood carvings. Sometimes she held them up for Angela to see and she laughed and tried to name them (she was much better at the fish and shells than she was at the flowers, but she was getting better).

“Do you want to come inside?” Fareeha asked one afternoon, as she felt fat drops of water begin to fall.

Angela shook her head no. She didn’t say anything, because, judging by the way her eyes flirted around, she didn’t know what to say.

“It’s alright if you track water or dirt inside, you know.” When Angela remained unmoved, Fareeha gave up. “Alright.”

She tried again the next time it rained, and again Angela turned her down. As comfortable as she was in the garden or leaning against the wall, she seemed adamantly against actually crossing Fareeha’s threshold. Fareeha was confused, but didn’t pressure her into saying why.

Halfway through the summer, Fareeha got another jar. The first one had filled up. She brought samples from the garden down to the beach every week, and Angela always seemed to appreciate that. What they couldn’t eat or store, Fareeha sold in the market further up the river.

“Do you paint?” Angela asked one day, watching with keen interest as Fareeha sketched the bright little crab cupped in her hands. Its buggy eyes swiveled to look at her and it clacked one claw irritably. “Oh hush.” She scolded it.

“I…” Fareeha trailed off, her concentration focused on the paper and pen. “Only draw. Paint costs money, and I thought it’s a waste to buy it.”

“But do you want to?”

“It might be fun to try,” Fareeha said, distractedly. She missed the thoughtful expression come over Angela’s face. 

Then summer turned to fall, and fall into winter, and Angela was gone again, not without leaving behind her usual haul of fish and pervading sense of loneliness. As before, when the ice began to melt, Fareeha returned to the beach to watch for her every morning.

She was back later this year, and again Fareeha almost cried with relief when she finally did show up, waving a fistful of oval-shaped shells. “I learned something!” She shouted, but Fareeha insisted on going to get her some clothes before she continued. “I found out that you can make paint from seashells,” she said, her excitement palpable. “So you don’t have to buy it!”

Fareeha didn’t know whether to be astonished or deeply entertained. She struggled with it, then settled on both. “How?”

“Well it’s…” Angela’s brow furrowed. “Let me remember. You have to grind it up into a really fine powder… and mix it with oil I think… or water.”

“Water’s easier, but we can try both.” Fareeha reached out a hand. “Will you help me?”

Angela looked at her, the fondness plain in her eyes. “I’d be glad to.” She trailed off. “I think I heard something about eggs..?”

“I don’t have those, but I can stop by the market if you want.” Privately, Fareeha was just glad that she had agreed.

The oil seemed to work better, but it was harder; Fareeha couldn’t make it herself so she had to buy it. She bought eggs, too, much to Angela’s apparent astonishment the following week. She later admitted that her first thought had been fish eggs, so she hadn’t expected them to be quite so large. Or hard-shelled.

“So they came from birds, then?” She had asked, holding one in her hand and giving it a dubious look.

“Naturally.” Fareeha raised her eyebrows. “Do you not have chickens where you’re from?”

“Ah, well.” Angela flushed.

“Loud, medium-sized birds that can’t really fly, sort of cranky most of the time, that regularly lay eggs?” Fareeha held out her hands to approximate the size of a chicken. When Angela shook her head, she sat down and drew one for her.

“They look kind of funny, don’t they?” Angela asked, looking over Fareeha’s shoulder. “Most birds have flatter tails.” She looked at it for a while longer and nodded decisively. “They’re cute.”

“They’re mean.”

“Are they?” 

“They’re like seagulls. Land gulls.” Fareeha thought that those probably existed. “Bickering and scolding all the time.”

“They’re still cute.”

“Maybe you could come to town with me some time, and you can see them in real life.”

Angela smiled softly at that. “Maybe. I probably don’t have the time, though.” Indeed, she never did. She always had a set amount of time in the day, and that was never long enough to walk all the way to the market and back.

Fareeha continued to collect seashells.


	3. Seashells II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selkie AU
> 
> The truth isn't as painful or catastrophic as it first seemed.

Early that autumn, a fierce storm swept in suddenly from the west, the same day Angela was due to arrive. Against her better judgement, Fareeha still went down to the beach, one arm raised in a futile effort to keep the rain out of her eyes, and watched the behemoth black waves rage. Angela has said she swam, and while Fareeha never knew if she had been joking or not, the idea of her alone out there drove her to stay longer than she should have. To get closer than she should have. 

She didn’t react in time to one particularly large wave slamming into the shore, and the sand was too loose and slippery to get a hold on; Fareeha had thought it would be better than trying to deal with the equally slippery and much harder rocks, but at that moment she was regretting her choice. The sea was insistent, and she was dragged off her feet, her hands doing little more than stir up pale clouds that were swiftly ripped apart by the waves. She was dragged diagonally across the shore, and the last thing she remembered was scrabbling desperately at the sudden smooth stones she found beneath her fingers, trying to keep her head above water, to catch as breath if she could.

She awoke to the sound of howling wind and thunder, the roar of rain and surf. There was water on her face, but it was warm, and salty (or maybe that was just the lingering taste of seawater on her tongue) and there was Angela, bent over her, cupping her face in her hands, a desperate litany of “No” and “Stay with me” on her lips. When Fareeha moved one hand to cover Angela’s, she buried her face in her chest and sobbed, and for some reason Fareeha felt guilty, because she had made her cry, instead of afraid, or relieved, because she had almost drowned.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Angela was hissing, just loud enough to be heard over the storm. Fareeha looked around as she continued. “You idiot! What were you doing? What were you thinking?” They were in a cave, just far enough inside to be shielded from most of the rain. She watched lighting crack the sky through the mouth of the cave, and, politely ignoring the sudden realization that Angela was, as usual, unclothed, and definitely straddling her waist, she turned her head towards the back of the cave.

There was something there, haphazardly tucked behind some tall stones. Fareeha squinted, making out nothing but a light grey blob until the lightning flashed again, and for the briefest second she could make out a pile of glossy, sleek grey fur. Her brow furrowed. Fur? She didn’t notice Angela tensing up, her fingers curling into her shirt in horror. The lightning flashed again, and she spotted the dapples of white and darker grey on it. It reminded her of something. Probably from the market. Furs were common enough, though most of them were luxuries that she didn’t bother with. What kind, though? She closed her eyes. Her head hurt.

A thunderclap rolled across the sky. Seal, Fareeha finally settled on. That dappled grey was definitely seal. Mystery solved, she allowed her mind to wander, and slowly ebb towards sleep.

Another thunderclap and her eyes suddenly sprung open. Wait, seal? An old story bled into the forefront of her mind. Of seals, and mysterious people that appeared on beaches. Suddenly a lot of things made much more sense. She turned to look at Angela, whose fingers were still fisted in her shirt, and was giving her the same look of sheer panic that she had given her when they first met.

Then she started to tremble. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Fareeha wasn’t entirely convinced she was talking to her. “I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t… I just thought… I just wanted to see… Oh, I got greedy.” She fell silent, staring through Fareeha as if she didn’t exist.

“Oh,” Fareeha said thickly. She swallowed painfully and tried again. “You really did swim.” She paused, struggling to organize a coherent thought. “Thank you.”

Angela started crying again, and Fareeha was back to searching for something to say, because clearly that had been wrong. “It’s kind of selfish, but I’m glad,” she said, and Angela froze. She hurried on because she realized what that sounded like, and she didn’t want her to get that impression. “Because the first time you gave me fish I was feeling kind of incompetent, like, ‘wow Fareeha, you’ve been fishing your whole life and this woman just shows up with a haul like this and says ‘it’s nothing.’ Don’t know what game this is but you’re definitely losing.’” She paused to wet her tongue. “I also noticed that some of the shells aren’t from around here, so then I started wondering where you got them. ‘Does she have a ship? Does she travel a lot?’ But then you said that you didn’t have a ship so I thought maybe you were a crew member? And I’m not sure what kind of captain lets a crew member wander… er, swim, around without clothes every week, but that would explain the schedule you set. And then I realized that you were here every week most of the year so either you didn’t travel a lot and just happened to have a bunch of exotic shells and an encyclopedic knowledge of the ocean or travelled very quickly and…” She trailed off because Angela was shaking her head, and still crying.

“You idiot,” she muttered. “You absolute idiot.”

Fareeha thought about that. “There’s worse things to be. I’d rather be an idiot than an asshole.” Angela stilled again, holding her breath. “That takes things that don’t belong to them.” She looked towards the pelt again. “Does that actually happen? The things they say in the stories.”

“Yes,” Angela whispered, and her voice was harsh and ragged, like someone that’d swallowed too much seawater. “Yes, it does.”

Fareeha was quiet again for a long time. “I was hoping you’d say ‘no’. ‘No, idiot, that’s just something some old, crazy person made up.’” She sighed. “I understand,” she said, even though the idea made her heart ache, “if you would rather not come back.”

Now it was Angela’s turn to think about it. “Do you really mean that?” Her voice was still hoarse.

“That’s another good thing about idiots.” Fareeha looked her in the eye and gave her a hesitant grin. “They’re really bad at lying.”

Angela sniffed and tried her best to rub the lingering tears out of her eyes. “You’re not an idiot.”

“Hey hey, that was the basis of my argument!” Fareeha laid back and began to examine the ceiling. “What do I say now?” She looked at Angela again. “I came out here looking for you, you know. I thought you might get hurt. So I do feel kind of dumb about that.”

Angela was quiet. Fareeha considered her, then sighed. “Do you mind if I take a nap?” Angela didn’t reply, but she did, thankfully, get off of her. Fareeha watched her pad over to her pelt and sit back down again, wrapping it around her shoulders, pulling her knees to her chest, and staring blankly into the storm.

 

When she woke, Angela was gone, pelt and all. She waited for the rain to let up to a gloomy drizzle (and for her pounding headache to subside a bit), then carefully made her way along the narrow strip of sand outside the cave, following it until it widened onto the beach again. It was empty, save for seaweed and debris being pushed up the shore by the waves. 

She trudged home, shook the wet sand out of her shoes, made herself a cup of tea, dried herself by the fire, and tried not to think too hard.

She was disappointed, but not entirely surprised, when the beach was still empty the following week. And the week after that. She stopped expecting anything after the third.

Which is why she thought she might have had a small heart attack when, almost two months later, she saw someone sitting on the rocks with something shiny and grey wrapped around her shoulders. She started crying (again) when the figure raised her hand, and, very shyly, waved.

“Are you sure?” She blurted, as soon as she got close.

Angela fingered the gold bead that Fareeha hadn’t noticed was still in her hair. “I think so.” She patted the rock. “Like I said, there’s nowhere quite as nice as here.”

“Lucky for me, then.” Fareeha hesitated, eyeing the pelt draped across Angela’s shoulders like a cloak. “Do you still want clothes?”

Angela shrugged. “If you want.”

Fareeha considered that, then decided that she would rather not make the sprint back up the path that day, and instead sat down beside her. Angela tugged her pelt closer around herself, wrapping all but her head in it. “I missed you,” Fareeha murmured.

“I missed you too.” Her heart skipped a beat again.

So they settled back into their old routine again. Fareeha went back to bringing clothes, mostly hats because Angela still looked like she’d burn easily, and some thin, light clothes out of politeness; the pelt looked thick, and it turned out it was, when Angela gave her permission for Fareeha to touch it—it was coarse and bristly at first, but underneath that the fur was incredibly soft. Angela must have seen the wonder on Fareeha’s face because she laughed and said that she was going to take it as a compliment.

Then Fareeha asked why it wasn’t not the same color as her hair, and Angela just shrugged and said it was probably just because natural colors for seals and natural colors for humans aren’t the same. That opened up a veritable interrogation from Fareeha: how much of herself does she need to cover to turn back into a seal (all, but she also needs to want to do it), does it grow with her (naturally yes), does she look like that as a seal (yes), can she sense its location (no), can it get damaged (yes), can it grow back (also yes), is there a maximum amount of time or distance she can be away from it (sort of), how does she keep it that pretty (a good diet), does it need brushing (no, but it’s nice), does she need a brush then (no, but she’d appreciate one), is there a certain kind of brush or comb that she needs but wait what if that disrupts the air pockets in the fur that’s how it works right and—

Angela put a finger to her lips. “Let me keep a few secrets at least.” Her voice was teasing, but Fareeha let herself be hushed. Then: “I could just show you.” She got up and walked into the ocean.

Fareeha stood back and stared because she’d never actually seen a seal this close before; they’ve always been far off and there was no point in bothering them. This one was sleek and graceful and beautiful, and, though she’d never say it out loud, Fareeha thought she was quite cute, with her whiskers and big, dark eyes. When the sun hit them right she could see the blue in them, just under the surface.

She went under the waves, leaving Fareeha to stand on the beach and wonder what she should be doing until Angela suddenly reappeared again, this time with a large, spiny, and furious crab between her teeth. Fareeha laughed so hard she almost forgot to draw it waving its legs and claws as menacingly as it could in the air. Then, through a series of elaborate pantomimes, Angela conveyed that she would like Fareeha to hold the crab please, probably tie it up or something, because she would not like to turn back with that in her mouth, and no, she didn’t want to let it go.

“Fish are a lot easier,” she gasped, as soon as she could, tugging her pelt around her shoulders again. “Because I can just throw them onto the land and they can’t run away.” 

“That’s nice,” Fareeha said, more distracted by the spitting mad custacean in her hands. “Why are we keeping this one again?”

“Because it’s invasive.” Angela strode forward and expertly grabbed it from her. “And also tastes delicious.” She looked around. “You wouldn’t happen to have an icehouse or something, would you?”

She did, in fact, have an ice cellar, albeit a small one. Fareeha unlocked it and watched, mildly perplexed, as Angela wrapped the crab in wet cloth, put it in, told it to “Go to sleep”, and closed the door, only to come back and retrieve it at the end of the day. The crab, it seemed, had heeded her advice, because it was unresponsive.

“You have spikes, right?” Angela said, already looking around.

“What?” Fareeha blinked out of her confused stupor. “Spikes?” She thought about it, then disappeared into the house and came back with a long, thin blade. “Does this work? I only have the one.”

Angela inspected it. “That’ll do.” She plucked it from her hand, twirled it around, then, carefully but confidently, spiked the crab twice. She caught Fareeha staring again as she let it drain. “What? It’s only polite.”

“To freeze it?”

“Of course. So it doesn’t hurt.” Angela raised an eyebrow. “Do you not eat crabs?”

“Yes, but I was never the one handling them.” She nodded at the crab. “Do you always do that?”

“No.”

“As in…” Fareeha trailed off, vaguely apprehensive of the answer.

“I usually just crush them. Bite right through. But like I said, it’s only polite to do it this way if I can.” As she spoke, Fareeha eyed her teeth, noticing that they were slightly more pointed than most people’s, now that she was looking closely.

Angela looked towards the sun, which was already below the horizon, its glow fading fast. She seemed disappointed. “I should probably go.”

“You don’t want to stick around? You’re the one that claimed that this would taste good.” Fareeha’s voice had a soft, plaintive note in it.

“It will taste good.” Angela patted her on the arm. “So enjoy it for me.”

“You’re missing out now. You’ll have to catch another one.” Angela bared her teeth in a grin, but before she could respond, Fareeha pushed on. “I don’t even know how to cook it.”

This gave Angela pause. “Well, there are a lot of ways…” She could hear her resolve crumbling.

“I’ll ruin it otherwise, so teach me.” Fareeha poked her playfully. “I taught you how to make bread. Fair’s fair.”

“That’s true…” So it was that Angela allowed herself to be coaxed into Fareeha’s home. She stood a long time just inside the doorway after closing the door behind her, stock still save for her eyes, wandering around the room, inspecting it. Her lips her parted slightly, drawing the air over her tongue, tasting its scents for what clues she could glean.

It smelled like sage and mint and salt and wood, with hints of the earthy vanilla of old paper, wood smoke, and clean cotton. Unsurprisingly, it smelled like Fareeha. Angela decided that she liked it, and her expression broke into one of unabashed delight when she saw the shells in their place of honor by the window.

Fareeha busy with starting some tea, didn’t notice. “Make yourself at home.” She pointed. “Pots, pans, and knives are over there, herbs and spices are in the cabinet to the left; help yourself. Let me know if you need anything.”

Angela nodded and opened the cabinet, inspecting, sniffing, and occasionally tasting the contents of the many glass jars within. Seemly satisfied, she closed the cabinet, picked the biggest pot she could find, filled it with salt and water, set it to a boil, and rather unceremoniously dunked the crab in. She put the lid on, then stood there, looking somewhat lost.

“You can sit down you know. Sorry about the mess,” Fareeha added, frowning at the various papers and curls of wood scattered across her table. She surreptitiously brushed some of it away and slid a wooden coaster down to the seat nearest to Angela before crossing over to the other side of her stove to pour some tea. “Is that all there is to it then?” She asked, setting one steaming cup down, and leaning against the counter with the other in her hands. “Boil it? Careful, the tea’s hot.” 

“It’s the easiest way.” Angela gave the coaster a mystified look, but seemed, at that moment, content to wait a little bit. “I seen them steamed, or grilled, or baked, or even fried…” She drifted off, her eyes becoming slightly unfocused. “Mm, I can’t remember exactly how…” She shook her head. “Do you have butter?”

Fareeha blew on her tea and raised an eyebrow. “How do you know what butter and frying are, but not about chickens?”

Angela flushed at that. “I know what chickens are!”

“You know now.”

“I just learned about them a little bit late!”

“Uh huh.” Fareeha sipped at her tea. “I have butter. In the icehouse.”

Angela perked up at that, and brushed past her to go retrieve it. She came back with a generous amount and the decency to look somewhat guilty about it. Fareeha just shrugged and watched as she melted it and added pinches of various herbs to it. She spent some time hovering between watching the crab and watching the butter, looking uncertain about both.

“Really, sit down,” Fareeha finally said. “The chairs don’t bite.”

Angela stared at her. “Is that a thing that happens?”

“No, but you’re avoiding them like they do.” Fareeha pulled out a chair. ”I can get a cushion if you want.”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Angela slowly sank into the chair. She brought her feet up to the seat and crossed her legs. She studied the coaster more closely.

“It’s for keeping water and heat off the table.” Fareeha hid her fond smile behind her cup. She thought it might be patronizing to say so, but Angela’s curiosity and naïvety in these things was endearing. “They’re also fun to make. It makes me feel productive.”

“If it serves a purpose, then it’s always productive. Even if it’s just to make you happy.” Pale, slender fingers wrapped around the cup and lifted it to her lips. Then again, in so many ways, she was not naïve at all.

For a while, the only sound within the cabin was that of bubbling water. At some point, Angela judged the crab to be done, and, after pulling it from the water and letting it cool, Fareeha watched in genuine awe as she shelled and cleaned the thing with an expert efficiency. She didn’t need her teeth to crack the chitin, as it turned out, nor did she need to stop and think about what was and was not edible, simply moving from one action to the next, stripping meat from carapace, laying it out, and moving on without pause. Fareeha quietly resolved to time her next time, or perhaps see if she could do it faster with a knife and not just her bare hands.

Angela offered her a strip dipped in butter. Fareeha accepted it without complaint, and then accepted another one with the opposite of complaint when she tasted the first. “You weren’t kidding.” Her tongue flicked out to swipe the butter off her fingers.

Angela watched her with a mixture of reassurance and smugness. The smugness won out. “I told you.” She stuck out her tongue, set both crab and butter on the table, and sat down again. Fareeha took a seat across from her, and between the two of them even the rather large crab didn’t last very long.

Still, the sun had long set by the time the dishes were washed and the cups were drained. Fareeha caught Angela looking outside with pursed lips, frowning at the pitch blackness of the night. The moon was a sliver in the sky, too dim to illuminate much.

“You can stay here if you’d like.” She didn’t quite know what possessed her to suddenly be so bold. “I don’t have an extra bed, but the couch is comfortable enough. Unless you’d like the bed?”

Angela stared at her, then out the window, then back to her. “The couch is fine.”

“Ah, alright. I have extra blankets, if you need them.” She glanced at the fur.

Angela smiled a small smile. “A light one would be nice, actually.”

Fareeha nodded, disappeared somewhere upstairs, and returned with a crocheted blanket. It must have been very vibrant at some point, but it had faded to a pale grey-green over the years. Angela pulled it to her chest. It smelled a great deal like Fareeha. She hummed. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Fareeha didn’t know what to say to that, so she just said “I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.”

“Good night.” Her reply was was soft.

“Good night.” The steps creaked under Fareeha’s feet. She should probably check that out sometime.

Angela was still asleep when Fareeha checked in the morning, curled up on the patchwork couch, wrapped almost completely in her pelt with the blanket sill clutched to her chest. She only woke with a start when the smell of frying fish began to creep into the air, and was too embarrassed to do much more than mumble “Morning” when she realized it was because Fareeha’s scent had quickly come to be synonymous with home.

After a quick breakfast (fish fried in the leftovers of last night’s butter and herbs washed down with a cup of black tea), and an even quicker washing of the dishes, Angela was out the door, her pelt blending into the morning fog. The next evening, her usual stack of clothes and seashell were on the windowsill. She came back on occasion during her weekly visits, helping to cook, or prepare the garden for the winter. She slept on the couch at night, and was gone early in the morning.

And then the winter loomed over the horizon again, and one morning Fareeha stood at the door, spilling her shadow down the path, and Angela was brushing past; she had dropped off her usual bunch of fish yesterday, and that same bit of recklessness in Fareeha that had prompted her to ask for Angela’s name, to go out to sea in the storm, to offer her a place to stay for the night, suddenly flourished again, and she reached out to catch her elbow. “Do you have to go?”

Angela turned then, and gave her a look that was equal parts uncertainty and confusion. “I need to follow the food,” she said.

“We stored up a lot over the year. We could make it work.”

Angela bit her lip, something warring in her sea-blue eyes. “I don’t want to strain you…”

“There’s always ice fishing or the market anyways,” Fareeha added. She rubbed her arm and looked away. “Don’t feel pressured. I understand; it’s just…” Her voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. “It gets lonely without you.”

When she met Angela’s eyes again, they were clear, bright with resolve. She closed the distance between them with a single step, pausing only to quickly look Fareeha up and down for a moment, her breath on her lips, before leaning in to close the remaining gap. She tasted like their breakfast, and the usual accompanying breakfast tea, but under that was the sea on its best days, like fish, light, sweet, and fresh, and salt, and water, and the wind off the waves, and maybe at this point Fareeha’s just being over romantic but she doesn’t quite care because Angela’s hands were combing through her hair and tugging her very gently even closer and her own hands were moving up Angela’s shoulders, her throat, lingering a moment to thumb her jaw, finally settling on her cheeks, cupping her face in her hands. Angela broke off to laugh, and Fareeha laughed too, and then Angela bumped her nose against Fareeha’s and she finally said “We can’t have that, now can we?” 

Fareeha chuckled to herself. “I thought sirens were the ones that take your breath away.” It was worth the eye roll and groan she received in response. And then… and then?

And then for the first winter, Angela stayed.


	4. Seashells III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selkie AU
> 
> A sweet development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that there are only going to be happy endings in these. This is the feel-good corner.

The cold settled in soon after, and they spend the days inside, keeping the fire company, Fareeha teaching Angela how to actually fold clothes (she had gotten good at her own little style though, over time), and it turned out that she actually knows how to sew already so it doesn’t take them long to end up in front of the hearth, repairing quilts, their legs piled over each other under the blankets. The drawings weren’t so bittersweet now; Fareeha didn’t need to wish for the real thing anymore. Eventually Angela became aware of them, and despite all of Fareeha’s fears, she liked them quite a bit, and insisted on being shown all of them when there was time the spare.

Every week Angela made her way down to the ocean, and at the end of the day she came back with a new shell (for tradition’s sake, she said), and perhaps something nice to eat if she was lucky. Fareeha waited for her on the beach with a towel, a lantern, and some hot tea, because it was cold and Angela didn’t have the benefit of blubber anymore when she turned back and the last thing Fareeha wanted was for her girlfriend to get sick for her sake. 

During one particularly cold snap, Fareeha was so busy fretting over the garden that she was late to the beach, but Angela was even later, and when she did appear she was grinning from ear to ear because even though she didn’t find anything to eat, she did find a small chest of coins and Fareeha just stared at it because she thought that only happened in fairytales, though come to think of it the boats that she used to work on did have coin chests, and they were about that size. And then she was done staring and instead rushing in to help towel Angela’s hair off, shoving the still-warm cup into her hands, and muttering to herself about ways in which they could spend that much money without people thinking they were pirates, and Angela won’t stop giggling because apparently Fareeha has a tendency to ramble and she thinks it’s cute.

It reminded Fareeha about the markets though, and before they turned in for the night Angela stood patiently by the fire, both drying off and letting Fareeha take some measurements. The next morning, Fareeha packed away a reasonable portion of the money, wrote a note, and set out before the sun even rose, the sky milky grey above her head, coming back in the evening with some warm clothes that actually fit Angela and some meat pies that only needed a bit of reheating to turn into an excellent treat for dinner.

Despite her best efforts, Angela came down with a light cold, and Fareeha firmly relegated her to sitting by the fire wrapped in an increasing amount of blankets, alternating between drinking tea and soup. Fareeha also persuaded her to swap sleeping spots, moving her into the bed while she herself crashed on the couch. 

When the brief illness passed within two weeks, Angela quietly commented that even Fareeha’s winter blankets seemed a bit thin. When Fareeha told her that down and fur blankets were more of a luxury than anything—she could always just pile on some more layers if she was cold—Angela shyly proposed that they could share the pelt. Fareeha asked if that was really alright a dozen times before she agreed to it, because it seemed like a very intimate thing; aside from patting it on occasion she had been careful to never even touch the pelt. Angela reassured her that yes, it was okay, though she’d be rather cross if she drooled on it. Fareeha was still reluctant, but admittedly it was very warm, and Angela was pleased about having a bed, because while the couch was nice, it was also very easy to roll off of. Privately, they were both happy to be able to slowly cuddle up against each other over the course of each night. Eventually, when they both realized that neither minded, their reservations about snuggling up together and expression their affection in physical ways swiftly faded.

Angela didn’t move out when the spring came, and Fareeha didn’t mind at all. They continued to tend the garden together, and on the first day that the roads weren’t quite as treacherous and muddy from the snowmelt, Fareeha took Angela into town (she hid the pelt in the back of Fareeha’s closet), to see this market that she had heard so much about. They bought more butter, flour, eggs, cheese, some meat, some fruit, clothing for warmer weather for Angela, and some repair tools and materials. They held hands at first, in the relatively crowded square, but once or twice Fareeha would slip away to go look at something, pick something up, or haggle with a particularly stubborn merchant while Angela looked over the various wares with open, wide-eyed curiosity. She lingered for a long time to watch some chickens, who were penned up to be sold, and decided that they were indeed about as furious as Fareeha had said, but they were still very cute. When Fareeha came back from inspecting the price of melons to see her still standing there, she got a look on her face that said she had an idea and circled back to buy more planks of wood, nails, and caulk.

It was a lot to carry, but they were both strong, and with only a little bit of clever balancing everything made it back to the cottage intact. The next day, Fareeha marked out a space next to the garden, refusing to tell Angela what it was for. She was worried at first that she’d be given away once she started building the coop, but Angela, who had never seen one before, didn’t make the connection. After offering to help and being turned down, she mostly ignored it.

So it was exactly the surprise Fareeha was hoping for when she left on her usual swim (she’d insisted on resuming it, and Fareeha hadn’t been able to dissuade her), and was led back to find a small flock of black and white barred chickens in the new pen. There were four to be precise, and seemed friendly if not slightly skittish around strangers. Angela seemed to respect that, stopping at the gate to watch them and only occasionally cooing in delight. The chickens clucked back and mostly ignored her after figuring out that she didn’t have any food for them.

“So it turns out not all chickens are moody. Most of the time, anyways.” Fareeha leaned back against the fence. “I always thought that the grief of protecting them from any foxes or hawks made them not worth the effort, but…” She leaned over to brush a kiss against Angela’s hair. “I thought maybe it is worth it after all.”

“I don’t know about foxes, but hawks?” Angela smiled, baring her teeth. “I’ve caught bigger birds before.”

“Don’t get carried away dear.” Fareeha kissed her again. “You’re on land now.”

Angela just shrugged, and, later, she was perfectly happy to help Fareeha put together some sort of mesh walls and roof for the pen so no large bird could get through anyways. 

One day Fareeha came home with a bit of pink ribbon, which she had apparently been given in return for a bit of fish, and presented it to Angela with great ceremony. Angela alternated between snickering and rolling her eyes the entire time, but she pulled together a grave countenance to accept it, tying her hair up with it from that day on. (She seemed content to let quite a bit of hair continue to fall in her face, however, so Fareeha didn’t know what the point was. She didn’t complain though—it was a cute look.) In return, the next month, Angela left her own gift on the kitchen table for Fareeha to find—a set of paints, some small bottles of black ink, and, astonishingly, one bottle of purple.

Ironically, they went from only seeing each other one day every week to not seeing each other one day every week. Fareeha started to use the day to begin a little project of hers—after completing the chores in the morning, she sat down and worked until late in the afternoon, cleaning up and gathering the usual towel, tea, and lantern in time to be down at the beach by the time evening set in. Angela, likewise, had her own little project, and occasionally hauled out in her old cave to see if she had found what she was looking for that day, and to do some work that only human fingers were dextrous enough for.

Early one summer, Fareeha off-handedly asked if selkies had any courtship rituals.

“Why do you want to know?” Angela cocked her head.

“I just thought, you know.” Fareeha cleared her throat. “We’ve been doing a lot of human things. I can’t imagine it’s easy to kiss, or hug, or hold hands as a seal. Especially if you don’t have hands.”

“We can cuddle, and we can still kiss, in a way. Bumping noses is usually the most dignified way to do it.” She huffed, thinking. “Gifts are always good. Food and shiny things.”

“Like seashells?” Fareeha flashed a grin.

“Like seashells.” Angela’s cheeks reddened. “Though that was just me thanking you in the beginning, so don’t go getting too bloated of an ego now.”

“Too late.”

“But usually, for that kind of affection, things that are shinier than shells. Pearls, for example. Sometimes you find a shipwreck to scavenge, but that’s rare.” Angela furrowed her eyebrows. “Most of them don’t carry jewels. The papers are useless to us, and the food perishes easily in the water, so the best you can usually hope for is finding the money chest, or some wallets or some such.”

“Do you use money?”

Angela shook her head. “For interacting with humans, yes, but among ourselves? We’re mostly solitary, and even if we weren’t, what would we buy? Anything any of us have would come from the ocean, and then it’s easy enough to get ourselves.”

“I see.” Fareeha said. She considered it for several more minutes, then, abruptly: “What do you know about human traditions, then?”

Angela gave her a curious look. “Why do you ask?”

“Just humor me.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “If you insist. I know that you people seem to have a lot of them. You give gifts too, don’t you? And you make things to wear. Jewelry, right?” She hummed thoughtfully, as she was wont to do. “Are rings special? I got that impression once.”

“They can be.” Fareeha had to still the twitch of her fingers. “Anything else?”

“Well,” Her voice was suddenly shy, in a way that it hadn’t been with Fareeha for well over a year. “Most of you seem to mate for life. Like us.”

A wide, bright smile spilled across Fareeha’s face. “That’s the hope, with marriage.”

“Mm, yeah, that’s what you call it.” Angela nodded, already distracted by something.

“And rings can be special because, around here at least, you give them to people when you marry them. Or ask them if they want to marry you.” She couldn’t stop herself this time, drumming her fingers on the couch. “Angela?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know if you wear these, but…” She stood, turned, knelt, and produced a ring, intricately carved with waves, made from wood that had been polished and varnished to a dark warm glow, then further inlaid with nacre and gold. “Will you marry me? Usually you give gifts aside from this, but I don’t have much to offer, aside from my love and my home.”

Angela’s eyes widened. Then she started to laugh, and she reached down to run her thumbs over Fareeha’s cheeks to reassure her against the storm of emotions warring on her face. “Funny you should say that,” Angela murmured, “When I was waiting for a good opportunity to ask you much the same thing.” Saying this, she slid two fingers into her sleeve and unraveled a string of pearl and bone beads from around her forearm. “Rings aren’t possible without fingers… but these are more versatile.” Then she slid onto the floor as well, and held it out.

“Your hand, please.” Fareeha gently grabbed her hand (she gave her the customary squeeze) and slid the ring onto her ring finger. It fit snugly, much to her relief. It was only then that she dipped her head and allowed the loop of beads to be draped around her neck. “They’re for mates, then?” She reached up to finger the beads, feeling their cool smoothness.

“They’re for mates,” Angela confirmed. She unwrapped another one, identical (or as identical as she could get it, with organic materials) to the first, and looped it around her neck. “They can go around your neck, or a flipper, or a tail. The thing is, if you’re moving from one form to another, it can be difficult to put them on or take them off without help.”

“I see.” Fareeha slipped another ring, this one also as identical to the first as she could get it, onto her own finger. “So it has practical meaning as well.” She snorted. “You’re putting us humans to shame, you know.”

“I’m sure there’s a lot of symbolism with rings,” Angela said.

“Probably.” Fareeha inspected the pearls, noting their iridescence, their colors, their shapes. “Did you get all of these yourself?”

Angela puffed up her chest at that. “Yes! Some of them weren’t good enough for a necklace, but I kept them in a pouch anyways, if you want them.” She singled out two oblong pearls in the middle with particular pride. They were orange-ish pink, and had subtle rippling patterns on them. “I found these conch pearls a while ago. It’s really rare for them to be this good, so I always kept them for a special occasion.”

“You did?” Fareeha raised an eyebrow. “Do you mind if I ask how? You don’t seem to have any pockets on that pelt of yours.”

“I have caches. One really, the relatively little time I spend on migration isn’t worth saving things for.”

“So if you find something interesting while travelling..?”

“Hold it carefully, beneath the tongue so I don’t swallow it.”

“Wouldn’t that get in the way of eating?”

“I just have to be slower and more delicate about it.” Angela sniffed. “I can do that if I want to.”

“Really now?” Fareeha ducked before Angela took a swipe at her head. They both knew she was teasing. “Joking, joking, you’re always beautiful and graceful when you eat.” She rolled the necklace between her fingers. “I feel like I should contribute to this somehow.”

“You don’t need to. I didn't contribute to the ring.”

“You did, actually. The nacre’s from the abalones that you gave me, and I got the gold by melting down coins from that chest you found. The coins also paid for the process.” She leaned forward to tap their foreheads together, then, remembering what Angela had said, to tap their noses together. “I’d like to come up with something, if that’s alright with you.”

By the next week, Fareeha had carved up a pair of small seal charms (from the drawings of Angela in her journal), and retrieved some silver twine to hang the rings from when they wanted to wear them as necklaces, and Angela, not to be outdone, went out to find another pearl, a large one this time, to replace the gold bead from that first winter, determinedly showering Fareeha in affection afterwards. Fareeha was quite happy to return that fondness in all ways.

Selkies didn’t really have marriage ceremonies, so Fareeha planned up a sort of casual one on the beach where they met, the waves pushing sand and water and foam between their feet. She got some more ribbon in all different colors to tie their hands together this time: aqua, blue, pink, red, orange, yellow. Afterwards, they sat and dipped their feet in the tidepools, Angela insisting on tying at least one of the ribbons into Fareeha’s hair.

Angela also moved her little cache, which consisted mostly of shells and other such trinkets, in. Fareeha made a small box for it, fixed up the money chest, and moved the shells that she had collected herself to a series of wooden cylinders next to the jars at the window at the same time. She later got another piece of wood, cut it to size, and made a fake back for the closet. She installed it alongside a lock subtly attached near the bottom and gave Angela the key, so she could feel less anxious about leaving her pelt at home. Angela put it on the necklace alongside her ring, and added the marriage ribbons to her collection, swapping out the one in her hair every day.

Some lazy, sunny days she stayed inside, or settled in the shade to snooze or think or just enjoy life, and then Fareeha would come by, tracking in sand with her feet and sunshine with her laughter, and she’d show her a drawing, or maybe three, and Angela would squeeze her hand and tell her that she was getting much better, because she was, and then she’d ask if she was really that pretty and Fareeha would say yes, or actually, she was prettier, and one day they were repainting the cottage to a nice creamy white (the chickens were unimpressed), and the next they were painting the coop to an equally nice pale green (the chickens were still unimpressed), and the next they were in the river, supposedly washing their clothes and each other but more truthfully just having a splashing contest, and at night they crawled into bed, and they’re exhausted, but happy, and Angela threaded her fingers carefully through Fareeha’s hair and kissed her on the nose and whispered “Getting greedy with you was the best mistake I ever made.”

Fareeha gently pulled a hand from her hair and kissed the knuckles. “It wasn’t a mistake then, was it?” She murmured. “Just a decision.”

Angela just wrapped her arms around her neck, buried her face in her chest, and grumbled. “Let me be romantic.”

“You’ve been romantic for years, love.”

“You’re better at this than I am.” Her voice was muffled.

Her chest shook with her laughter. “I don’t think so.”

“You are.”

“Call it a draw?”

“Call it a night.”

 

They lived where the river met the sea, and the sea met the river, and they were in love for the rest of their lives.


	5. That Kind of Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hellhound/Demons AU
> 
> In which a sort of scruffy monster hunter going by the name of "McCree" runs into a pair of strangers at the bar. Emphasis on strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a criminal lack of Hellhound fics, it seems. Send them to me if you've got recommendations; in the meantime I'll try to make up for it.

The Deer’s Tooth was an old tavern at the edge of the forest, about twenty minutes outside of town at a drunken stagger, and just far enough to be too far for the guards to really bother with unless there was serious trouble. Its interior was perpetually hazed with smoke, its beer was bad and its food was worse, but it was cheap and the rules were lax, making it a favorite of the local bottom feeders and lowlifes.

That also made it a favorite of McCree’s. He sat at the bar, silently nursing his mug, tracing dark stains in the wood, and occasionally glancing around with hooded eyes. He kept his ears pricked. Amazing, what people sometimes revealed in places like these. 

McCree raised a finger and fished another coin out of his pocket. The bartender nodded and topped off his mug, the foam nearly slopping over the edge. “Thanks.” The bartender had already moved on.

There was a whisper under the general murmur of the evening crowd. McCree looked around again. People murmured when they didn’t want to be heard. Whispers were too sharp. Two figures stood near the wall, just too far for the grimy lamplight to reach, shrouding their features with a hazy gloom. One of them laughed, and McCree caught the glint of teeth.

“Well now my curiosity been piqued,” McCree muttered. He flipped another coin onto the counter, slid off his stool, and began to make his meandering way across the room. The man sitting next to him roused from what appeared to be a drunken stupor, watched him go, then reached out to claim his abandoned mug.

McCree kept his ears open as he approached. The occasional murmurs and whispers that he heard were too quiet to make out. When he finally drew close, the next flicker of candlelight gave him pause. He could catch glimpses of something between the skeins of smoke in the air.  Amazing indeed, what people sometimes revealed in places like these. Things like names, rumors, allegiances, plans and… forms.

One of the shadowy figures, the shorter one, turned her head and looked directly at McCree. One shining eye peered at him through the veil of smoke. A smile broke out across her lips, once again revealing gleaming teeth. Sharp teeth. She turned to her companion and murmured something. The other also turned her head to look at him.

McCree ambled closer until he was out of earshot of the next closest table. “Well met,” he said. He narrowed his eyes, trying to pick out any more features. “Don’t often see folks like you around here.”

The shorter one’s smile widened. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” McCree pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it with the nearest candle. “We’re a seedy bunch around here, but most of us are human.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, last I checked, humans don’t have tails, horns, wings, or wolf ears.” McCree held up his index fingers and put them next to his ears.

“Jackal.” The voice was dark and rich, and accompanied by a hum inside his skull.

“Hm?”

The taller figure flicked one ear. “Jackal.”

“Ah, right. Jackal ears. Sorry miss.” McCree blew out a cloud of smoke and looked down. “I’d say most folks don’t have hooves either.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” The two figures sharpened and came into focus, allowing McCree to see them both clearly for the first time. He studied them. They studied him right back. McCree privately felt that they were doing a much better job of it than he was. The shorter one whispered something to her partner again. She nodded. McCree felt like he was being judged.

The shorter one idly flicked her long, sinuous tail, tracing arcs through the air with the spaded tip. “Do you have a goal, hm?”

“Strange question to ask.” McCree tapped the ash off the end of his cigar.

“Not at all.” She cocked her head. “What else do you ask, after all, if you’re approached by a stranger?”

“I’d probably go for ‘back off’.” McCree shrugged. “Guess that ain’t a question. Don’t got that many goals, really. Do my job, get paid, get fed, get drunk, rinse and repeat until I die.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Nothing more… long term?”

McCree briefly considered making a crude joke. He decided he valued his life more than that. “No miss.”

“Not very ambitious, are you?” She looked slightly disappointed, her smile subsiding. “What a pity.”

“Not unambitious, just realistic.” McCree shrugged again. “It’s a hard job. Lots of… complications.”

“Oh?” The smile grew again. “How so? Perhaps we can help.”

“Mighty generous of you, offering to help a stranger.”

“Oh, how forgetful of me, we haven’t even been properly introduced.” She extended a hand. McCree eyed it warily. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it seemed to be surrounded with a faint flame. He busied one hand with playing with his cigar, and shoved the other deep in his pocket.

For the first time, a scowl flickered across her face. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone, the smile replacing it as if nothing had happened. “Come now, it’s just a handshake. Then we won’t be strangers anymore, will we?” McCree was silent, the glow of his cigar lighting the creases in his face. “We can help.” Her voice was kind. Pitying, almost. McCree kept his hand in his pocket.

He turned to the taller one. “Not much of a talker, are you?”

She gave him an impassive glance. Her partner shook her head. “She’s really quite nice, lovely sense of humor.” Her tail flicked again, briefly brushing against her hip. “She’s in a bad mood tonight.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” McCree eyed the extended hand again. “You want a shake? At least give me some names first.” The shorter one’s lip twitched. The other shifted slightly. “Let me know who ‘we’ is.”

They exchanged a look. “My partner here’s Fareeha. As for me…” She paused. “You can call me Angela.”

McCree raised an eyebrow. She levied a look at him, as if daring him to comment on it. He didn’t. “The name’s McCree. Monster hunter.”

Angela’s grin reappeared. She turned to Fareeha. “My my, it looks like you were right.” Her eyes flickered back to McCree. “I suppose we won’t be able to coax a handshake out of you tonight?”

“Nah.” McCree took a moment to suck on his cigar. “I like to think I know better than that. Mayhaps we could still have a deal though.”

“No. We’ve wasted enough time tonight.” Fareeha turned, as if to leave.

“Hear me out. Anything you two want aside from…” McCree gestured with his cigar. “You know, my soul or something.”

“Privacy.” Was Fareeha’s curt reply. Angela gave her a quick look, the jerk of her head carving a path through the air with her horns. “Come on.” Then, much, much quieter: “Please.”

Angela wavered. “Good luck, McCree.” She turned to follow, the shadowy cloak settling around the both of them again.

“Good luck to you too.” He watched them go, slipping outside into the night. Before they disappeared, Angela reached out to grab Fareeha’s hand. Fareeha stopped, let her catch up, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. McCree swore he saw her tail wag. Then, they were gone.

“Huh,” McCree said to the empty space. “Didn’t know demons did that kind of thing.” An echo of laughter rang in his ear. He stubbed out his cigar, put on his hat, and languidly wandered towards the door. He should probably restock on salt.


	6. Appraisal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigator/Forensic Pathologist/Police AU
> 
> Fareeha Amari is an investigator with a small town police station; Angela Ziegler, the local forensic pathologist, who frankly doesn't have too much to do. Something odd turns up on the side of the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Lesbian Visibility Day!

“What the hell,” she said, “is  _ that?” _

Fareeha put the box down and shrugged noncommittally. She dusted off her hands and looked down at it. “A box of bones, evidently.”

“Don’t get all smart on me.” Angela glared at it. “What is it doing here?”

“Chief told me to take them to you.”

“Perhaps I should take a look at his head instead. He is aware that I’m not an archaeologist, nor am I a museum curator?” Her eyes snapped up to Fareeha’s face. “Did he say what I should even be looking for?”

“Nope.” Fareeha patiently waited out the string of muttered curses.

“I can’t exactly perform an autopsy on a collection of ancient bones, you know that right?”

“I know.”

“So  _ why _ ,” Angela said, tugging a hand through her hair, “are they in my office?”

“Like I said, I really couldn’t tell you.” Fareeha leaned against the desk. “Morrison might just be losing his mind.”

“Where did you even get this?” Angela leaned over, lifting the flaps of the box with a pen.

Fareeha watched her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you expecting something more under there?” She glanced away before Angela could give her another biting look. “There was a sinkhole by the road, out on the other side of town. No one was hurt, but we did find those. We haven’t figured out where they came from yet.”

“So you want to know if you’re dealing with an unmarked grave, an ancient civilization, or an old body dump.” Angela begrudgingly leaned down to take a closer look at the bones. “They’re old, that’s for sure.”

“Who would have guessed.”

Angela deftly flicked the pen at Fareeha. “I told you not to get smart with me in my own office.” 

“Would you prefer I step outside?” Fareeha caught the pen and twirled it between the fingers. “I kind of need to be smart to do my job.” 

Deprived of her pen, Angela settled for pointing. “This gouge here—I assume that was there from the beginning?”

Fareeha leaned over to look. “I know we handled them with care.”

“It doesn’t look fresh, at least.” Angela frowned. “Suffice to say, at first glance that would be a likely cause of death. Something sharp made a very long, deep slash here. I don’t see signs of healing, either.”

Fareeha took a closer look. “A bear?” She offered half heartedly.

“I won’t discount it,” Angela sat down and nudged the box away. “I’d recommend actually speaking with an expert if you want to find out more.”

“That’s going to take some time.” Fareeha sighed. “Well, let’s see what Morrison thinks about this.” She put down the pen, picked up the box, and turned to leave.

“Good luck,” Angela called after her.

“Thanks! It was good to see you!” Fareeha replied, voice drifting in from the hall.

“We work together! In the same building, no less!”

“Sorry, can’t say anything about that; someone’s going to yell at us if we keep shouting at each other!”

Angela paused thoughtfully. “I guess I have to accept your being smart in my office, then!”

Fareeha’s laugh reached her ears from the hall. “Glad to hear it!”

Angela stood up and crossed over to the door, poking her head out. “But close the door behind you next time!” She saw Fareeha stop, shift the box to one arm, and raise a hand in acknowledgement.

 

She was back in the afternoon, this time rapping on the already open door to draw Angela’s attention. “Got a minute?”

Angela looked up, and slowly set down her pen. “Certainly.”

“More than a minute, actually.” Fareeha checked her watch. “They opened up a tunnel.”

“In the sinkhole?”

Fareeha nodded. “That’s the one. I’m going to take a look. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

“Any more bones?”

“No, thankfully, but we can’t just ignore it.” Fareeha hesitated. “We… might find more, if you’re interested in that.”

“I’m good.” Angela waved a hand. “Again, not an archaeologist.”

“Neither am I, so this should go well.”

Angela snorted. She looked Fareeha up and down. “When?”

“In an hour?” Fareeha checked her watch again. Angela hummed thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on her desk. “Please? It’s technically not your job, but I’ll buy you dinner.” Fareeha added.

A smile broke out on Angela’s face. “How could I say no when you ask so nicely?”

“So it’s a date?”

Angela laughed. “You have a morbid idea of dating.”


	7. On Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight AU
> 
> A lone, curious wanderer investigates a rumor, featuring the Junkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as, I suppose, the Fantasy AU (though one might argue that many of these have been fantasy AUs... ha...).
> 
> The knight is based off of the Halloween event's Enchanted Armor skin, but I can't really say it follows the plot, or even entirely the setting, of the Overwatch Halloween universe.

The village was overlooked by a hill, its sides clad with evergreen trees on all sides, save the north, which was open and grassy, with a road winding up it. The hill was crowned by a crumbling castle, visible from the moment one stepped out of the forest.

Angela stopped by the first shop she found (a butcher’s) to ask about it. She was answered by a scrawny, hunched man, with a nervous twitch in his hands. “No one lives up there. Used to be the old lord’s place.”

Angela raised an eyebrow at that. “You don’t have a governor then?”

“Oh Queenie appointed herself when the old man died, but she doesn’t live up there. The knight’s real touchy about it. Won’t let anyone get in.”

“The knight?” Angela frowned. “I thought you said no one lived up there..?”

The man smiled, though it seemed more like a baring of teeth than anything else. “Yeah.”

“So…” Angela trailed off, brow furrowing.

“You’ll see if you go up there. Which you shouldn’t,” he added hastily. 

“Why not?”

“Weren’t you listening? The knight doesn’t take kindly to outsiders, you hear? Don’t go catching her c—”

“Be quiet.” A third voice interrupted them. The other figure behind the counter was a giant of a man, face covered with a mask. Angela could see bandages underneath it.

Angela stood there and looked between the two as the dark store lapsed into silence. The smaller man shrugged.

The larger one broke the silence. “You going to buy anything?”

Angela eyed the rather large meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. “How much would a… two silvers get me?”

“What kind?”

Angela thought back to the sign hanging over the door. There had been a sheep on it. “Cured mutton?”

The butcher grunted, apparently satisfied with the answer. He turned around. “Since you’re here,” he said, “you might as get the paper.”

The smaller man straightened up and gave his back a mock salute. “On it!”

Angela gave him a curious look. “You don’t work here?”

“Naw.” He waved towards the door. “I’m down the road.”

“Ah.” Angela looked out the window. “What do you do?”

“I like to think of myself as a brilliant inventor. Or tinkerer. Depending on which one sounds better.”

The butcher snorted. “Brilliant enough to burn his house down every week.”

The smaller one shrugged, and didn’t deny it. “By the way, what are you doing here? We don’t get many visitors.”

“Traveling,” Angela replied. “Wherever the road takes me.”

“Oh! An adventurer!” The man leaned over the counter, a light suddenly in his eyes. “I’d be one too, if I could, but I’ve got this bad leg…”

Angela looked down. He  _ had  _ been limping. “Oh? You know, I’m a bit of a healer myself. I could take a look at it.”

“It got busted up real bad. I reckon only a proper cleric could have a shot at fixing it anymore. Me and the big guy here got caught up in a—” He was cut off again as he was pushed to the side, and two pieces of meat were dropped on the countertop with a dull thump.

The store lapsed back into silence again. Angela carefully set two silver pieces on the counter as the butcher wrapped the package up and tied it with twine.

“Thank you,” she said. The coins disappeared into his apron. 

She paused at the door. “Have a nice day,” she called. “It was nice talking.”

“Yeah, you too.” The smaller one waved. “Don’t go snooping around that castle ya hear?”

 

Angela decided to snoop around the castle. 

She cut a little strip of meat and chewed it as she climbed. The path was wide, paved with what must have once been neat flagstones. The wilderness had started to reclaim them, the grasses sprouting up between the stones, the moss spreading over them in the shade. It meandered from side to side, occasionally passing into a small grove of trees, but largely staying within the hill’s stretch of open grass.

The castle had fared no better than the path, it seemed. If anything, it was worse. Both its eastern outer wall and one of the towers was crumbling. Moss and ivy crawled over walls. Angela could see at least one window left ajar, its iron hinges rusty. A butterfly fluttered through the wild flowers growing underneath it. A bird twittered somewhere in the courtyard, as the long grasses waved in the breeze. It looked peaceful enough. Angela quietly wondered if those warnings had been simple superstition.

The front gates were closed, but the fallen wall was low enough to climb. Angela picked her way over the pile of stones and crossed the courtyard. The grass here still looked wild, but Angela supposed that if she stopped to look, she could probably find a garden somewhere. Probably around back. A decrepit fountain had been built in the middle, though it seems to have run dry a long time ago. 

The main doors were slightly ajar, the heavy oak wood weathered and splintered. Angela put her shoulder against one heavy plank, braced herself, and pushed. Her feet carved gouges in the ground as she pushed, grunting with exertion. The door slowly creaked open.

Angela wriggled through when the gap became large enough for her to avoid getting splinters. The main hall was dim, the windows grimy with dust and dirt. Bright sunlight streamed in through the door, and through a hole in the ceiling, flecking the tiles, but the corners of the room were dark. A grand staircase rose from the floor into the gloom above, its carpet worn and moth-bitten.

Angela looked up, observing an old chandelier, solid wax and cobwebs pale beneath its arms. It seemed sturdy enough, but Angela skirted around the edge of the room anyways. Likewise, the stairs felt strong when Angela tested them, but she stuck to the edges, one hand brushing the dust from the banister as she went. Branching off of the landing at the top was a long corridor, even darker than the main hall. Angela stopped to look back at the bright outdoors, then pushed on.

Suits of armor guarded the hall, set at regular intervals between the doors. Angela stopped in front of one whose breastplate was still gleaming just slightly. She blew away the dust, coughing and waving away the cloud when it flew into the air, and smiled. “Guarded by a knight, huh?” She almost touched the metal, but decided it would be a shame to put a fingerprint on it. Her hand dropped to her side, and she continued on.

Angela wandered through the dark halls, peeking into the rooms and admiring the old castle in all its fallen glory. Surprisingly, the old tapestries and paintings were still hanging on the walls, alternating with figures and vases on plinths or tables. The furniture was old, but sturdy, and elegant. Some vases still had wilted flowers in them. Angela always stopped at those, to carefully touch the withered petals and wonder at the life that must have once filled these halls.

Angela stopped at a heavy wooden door, larger and more ornate than the others. A tree was carved into the doors, the branches reaching up to the sky, the roots twisting together towards the earth, animals hidden among the leaves. The handles and hinges were made of brass, and, unlike many of the other doors, which had sagged open or left ajar by some errant breeze, this one was firmly closed.

As Angela reached out to touch one burnished handle, a clatter echoed in the corridor behind her. She whirled around, backing up, breath catching in her throat, eyes skipping nervously around, snapping to every movement. The moth-bitten curtains shifting in the wind. The shadow of a bird flitting by the window.

The hall was silent.

Angela had finally convinced herself that it was just an animal when the sound came again. Clinks and scrapes. Metal and stone. Angela seized up, palms sweating. A soft, turquoise-blue glow began to emanate from around the corner. It brightened steadily.

Angela’s mind blanked when the suit of armor stepped around the corner. It was dusty, but not with the same heavy blanket that covered everything else. Light glowed from within, pouring out of the joints.

“Please do not disturb that wing.” Its— _ her _ voice was breezy, echoey, fringed with whispers. “I am not to let anyone in, without explicit permission.”

Angela managed to unstick her tongue before the silence became awkward. “Of course. Forgive me, I didn’t know.”

The armor inclined her head. “It’s alright.”

Angela hesitantly allowed herself to relax. Just a bit. “If I may ask, explicit permission from… who, exactly?”

The armor’s shoulders slumped. The helmet turned to face the window behind her. “He… has not been home in many years. He left no heirs. The others have all gone, now.”

“I see,” Angela said. “It must be lonely.”

“It  _ is  _ still beautiful here,” was the reply. “The birds are fine enough company.”

“You’re more resilient than I am.”

The knight shrugged. “It is my duty.”

“Oh.” Angela looked over her shoulder, back towards the door. She took some time to think over her words, before speaking again. “May I ask a favor of you?”

“Go ahead.”

“I came here on curiosity. So, if I cannot see for myself…” Angela paused. “Will you tell me about this place? I’m sure you have more insight than I could ever get from just looking around, anyways.”

The knight, too, paused. “First, please identify yourself. I do not recognize you, and you carry magic.” Her head turned almost imperceptibly. “A  _ lot  _ of it.”

“Fair enough.” Angela inclined her head. “I’m a wanderer; I simply go where I feel I am needed as a healer and a scholar.” She smiled. “My name is Angela Ziegler.”

The knight seemed to soften, almost, despite all her hard metal edges. She inclined her head in a small bow. “Pharah… at your service.”


	8. The Flowering House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fantasy/Cat AU
> 
> A traveler by the name of Fareeha Amari finds herself in a small town with a certain odd resident. And a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to call this one in terms of AU name, so I'm just going to call it the Cat AU
> 
> Based off of [this prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bjjqe5/wp_the_most_sought_woman_in_the_town_has) on r/WritingPrompts

It was a small town, rather more of a village than anything. They had something of a local legend, albeit a very recent one. In the northeast corner of the town, slightly set aside from the rest, was a house. It was an old house, well-made of grey stones that were cool in the summer, but soaked up warmth in the winter, with climbing roses and honeysuckle growing wild over its corners, their blossoms filling the air with sweet fragrances from late spring all the way to the early frosts of autumn. There was a garden around back, with somewhat untamed flowerbeds and a lemon tree out front. A hedge separated the house from the land around it, and a flat cobblestone path led from its neatly painted, maroon door to the street. It was a beautiful home.

More importantly, perhaps, the owner and single resident was a beautiful woman. She kept mostly to herself, but she was not unkind, generally friendly when spoken to, seemed well-off, and was only a little bit eccentric. So it was that many of the young men of the town attempted to court her, or even ask for her hand in marriage outright.

She must have gotten tired of politely turning them down, and she must have been somewhat more eccentric than any of them had thought, because she eventually delivered an ultimatum: Her cat had the key to the house around its neck, and she would only marry a person who could retrieve it. Until then, she refused to give anyone the time of day.

People had tried all manner of things to catch that cat. They had tried to lure it, trap it, trick it, chase it, ambush it… one even went so far as to try to shoot it. Their efforts were all to no avail—the cat was swift, nimble, and clever, and evaded anyone who tried to capture it. For years now, no one had been successful, and the woman that lived in the flowering house at the end of the street remained lone.

Or, so Fareeha was told, when she first wandered into town. To be honest, she kind of just wanted to buy a drink at the local tavern, but she got roped into the whole story by some of the local townsfolk. They were a rowdy bunch, and this being so far out in the countryside, they took notice of any fresh faces passing through. Especially if those fresh faces had a good taste in ale, strength enough to win a few bouts of friendly arm wrestling, and patience enough to listen to their tale.

The atmosphere got chilly when Fareeha mentioned that she used to be a soldier, but it warmed right back up when she clarified that she had served with distinction and departed on good terms, and was not, in fact, a deserter. The conversation turned to the woman, the cat and the key soon after that.

“I figure she’s a witch,” one proclaimed, after emptying his mug.

“I figure you’re an idiot,” another one replied. Fareeha decided that she liked that one—he had apparently never tried to go after the cat, and generally admonished the ones who had attempted more cruel methods. “Witches have better things to be doing.”

“Wasting all of our time seems like pretty good witchy mischief to me.”

“You really think the cat’s impossible to catch because of witchcraft? Probably just don’t like people,” he scoffed.

A round of agreements and dissents swept through the group. Fareeha caught a few other comments too, some about how it was “a dumb cat either way, I didn’t even _want_ to win”, or a couple of snide remarks about how the woman may or may not be a witch but was definitely something that sounded very much like it.

Fareeha decided she needed some fresh air.

The evening sky was a soft gradient of pale blue and pink with the setting of the sun. There were still patches of snow on the ground wherever the shadows fell, but there was a smell of meltwater in the air—spring had finally begun to arrive. A few birds chirped to each other from the eaves of the buildings, but otherwise the town was quiet. Most people, it seemed, had gone home for the day. The ones that hadn’t, were busy getting drunk. It was peaceful. Refreshing.

Fareeha inadvertently made her meandering, roundabout way to the northeastern edge of town. After all, why not? She was curious.

Ahead of her, the road stretched into the fields and grasslands of the lower valley. To her left was a hedge, more or less neatly trimmed, and behind the hedge, set back from the road, was a house. It was too early in the year for the vines to be blooming, but a few small, determined flowers had begun to bloom at the house’s base. Pansies, Fareeha thought. She wasn’t entirely that good at flowers. There were also planters in the windows, though these were only sprouting, if anything.

She seemed nice, this woman with the cat. Even if she were a witch, though Fareeha privately decided that was a far stretch. It wasn’t a terrible idea, if one wanted to be left alone. Fairly reasonable, actually, and probably entertaining. Aside from the attempts to actually hurt the animal, that is.

Fareeha’s thoughts were interrupted when one patch of snow mewed at her.

Fareeha stared. It was a cat, and a rather pretty one too, with white fur and wide, blue eyes. It tucked its paws under its chest and looked up at her. Fareeha blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Sorry.”

The cat tilted its head. Fareeha caught the glimpse of something metallic glinting around its neck. “Are you the cat that everyone’s been telling me about?”

It meowed again. Fareeha took that to mean “Yes.”

“I didn’t mean to stare,” Fareeha said. “It’s just nice… here…” Fareeha trailed off.

The cat flipped its tail over its paws and said nothing, probably because it was a cat.

“I’ll leave you alone. I need to go find a place to stay, anyways.” Fareeha inclined her head. “Tell the person that lives up there to have a nice day, alright?” Fareeha looked up at the sky. “Er, have a nice evening, I suppose. Night. Evening and night. She has a lovely house. I hope her flowers do well this year.” Fareeha began to back away down the street.

The cat meowed again. It sat up and watched her leave. The key around its neck flashed pink and gold in the fading light.

 

The tavern, as it turned out, was technically an inn, albeit a small one. The keeper was a friendly fellow, and seemed grumpy in a good-natured way. He charged reasonable prices for reasonably good quality too, something which endeared him to Fareeha almost immediately.

“We don’t get many travelers around here,” he explained as he rummaged around for the key to a room. “Traders come through mostly in the autumn, around the harvest. So you get the best room in the house.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to charge you more for it.” He produced a key. It was weathered, but also burnished from passing through so many hands. “All the way at the end and to your left.”

Fareeha accepted it. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Breakfast’s whenever me or my wife feels like it.” He chuckled to himself.

“Your wife?” Fareeha raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” His eyes softened with fondness. “Greatest woman that ever lived… no offense to you, of course.”

“None taken.”

“She decided to turn in early today. It’s not like business is hectic or anything.”

“I see.”

“Have a good night, y’hear?” He called, as Fareeha began to step up the stairs.

“You too,” she replied.

It was a nice room, nicer than Fareeha had been expecting. Situated on a corner, it was spacious, with windows on two sides, outfitted with dark grey curtains. One looked up into the green mountains, the other looked down the river and over rest of the town. There was a bed, simple but well made, with a thick, soft blue blanket. A small, round table and matching chair stood under one of the windows. A circular blue and yellow rug filled the center of the room. A wardrobe stood against the wall opposite the table.

Fareeha spent some time looking around, taking it all in and getting herself acclimated to the place. Satisfied, she went to draw the curtains. She could see the house from one of the windows, with all its distinctive greenery. Fareeha paused to wonder at it, but pulled the curtain over the glass, and went to sleep, putting it out of her mind until morning.

In the morning, after a quick breakfast (the innkeeper’s wife was indeed a very nice woman), Fareeha went back to wandering around town. It was livelier now, but aside from exchanging short, polite greetings, Fareeha was left alone. She spent the morning walking along the river, watching the water flow past, over brown and grey pebbles, and through the reeds that sometimes grew on the bank. She could catch glimpses of small, silvery fish on occasion, or hear frogs chirping somewhere on the banks.

The town was divided by the river, with two arching stone bridges connecting each side. Cross to the other side, and one could eventually make their way into the woods that grew in the foothills and up the slopes of the mountains. They got thicker as one went further into the mountains, but close to town, the trees were young, and there was plenty of sun let in between their branches. Fareeha walked the dirt road to nowhere in particular, simply admiring the scenery and thinking about what she wanted to do next.

So, it was a surprise when she rounded a bend and spotted a flash of something white in the one of the trees. Fareeha stopped in her tracks and stared. The cat, nestled in the crook between a branch and the trunk of the tree, stared back. It swished its tail. The key was, of course, still there, dangling off a thin metal chain around its neck.

“Hello,” Fareeha said, because it felt like the polite thing to do. “Fancy seeing you out here.”

The cat chirruped at her.

Fareeha looked around. “So… what are you up to?”

The cat gave her a pointed glance. Fareeha shrugged. “Fair enough.” She put her hands in her pockets. “Do you have a name? I mean, aside from ‘The Cat’. I feels rude to call you that. It would be like you calling me ‘The Woman’.”

The cat blinked owlishly down at her. Fareeha coughed. “That’s not true. I think it’s more unusual for a cat to say ‘the woman’ than a woman to say ‘the cat’. Unless cats have a word for…” She combed her fingers through her hair. “Don’t be stupid,” she muttered to herself.

The cat meowed again. Fareeha shot it a look. “I’m offended.”

The cat waved its tail and purred. Fareeha crossed her arms and huffed. “You could just leave, you know.” The cat settled down even further. “Oh, _now_ you want to listen to me ramble, huh?”

Fareeha sighed. She found a flat stone on the side of the road and sat down. Dapples of shadow and light washed across her with every wave of the branches. “Are you the only cat around here?”

The cat, naturally, didn’t reply.

“My mother liked cats. She said they were good omens. For safety, and protection.” Fareeha put her head in her hands and looked up at the cat. “She never had time to take care of one consistently, but she still loved every stray she met. She would have liked you. You probably would have liked her too. Not to… put words in your mouth, so to speak.”

The cat cocked its head. Fareeha hugged her knees to her chest and put her chin on her knees. “I don’t think I’ll ever see her again. Not until…” She trailed off.

There was a long stretch of silence. The cat meowed again, softly. Fareeha looked up at it. “Sorry. The past is the past, I know.” She laughed to herself, and leaned back, propping herself up on her hands. “It’s nice here.”

The cat hopped out of the tree, and crept a little bit closer. Still well out of arm’s reach, however. It blinked slowly at Fareeha. Fareeha watched it. “Well,” she said, standing up and stretching, “it was nice talking. I need lunch.”

The cat darted between her legs, stopping at the bend in the path and looking over its shoulder. “Do you… have a suggestion?”

It meowed, and set off, trotting down the path. Fareeha shrugged, and followed. “Suppose the cat would know better than me…”

It led her down the foothills, back into town, across the bridge, and south, down close to the main street. It preferred to take back streets and alleys whenever possible, occasionally sitting down to wait patiently as Fareeha tried to pick her way across a rough, rocky path or climb over a gate that had been rusted shut.

After squeezing through a particularly narrow alley, Fareeha emerged on the other side to find the cat sitting neatly in the shade, languidly giving its chest fur a few licks. It looked up at her arrival. “Don’t give me that look,” Fareeha grumbled. “You’re a lot smaller than I am.”

It waved its tail and purred again, before getting to its feet and setting off down the path. Fareeha followed it as it made a right turn through another shaded, overgrown alley… only to emerge on the main street. Fareeha threw up her hands. “Are you serious? Would it not have been faster and easier to just take the _actual_ streets?”

The cat meowed and darted off. Fareeha cursed under her breath and followed as it led her towards town square.

“Hey there!” A voice called out from the side of the street. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” A woman stood in the doorway of one of the buildings, one hand on the handle. She had long reddish-brown hair, tied back in a high ponytail.

“I was…” Fareeha trailed off, looking around. The cat was nowhere to be found. “Never mind. I thought I saw something, that’s all.”

“Saw something? We’re not haunted, you know.” She flashed a bright, cheery smile. “You’re the traveler in town, right?”

“Unless we’re talking about different travelers, yes. I am.” Fareeha dusted off her jacket and looked around again, frowning.

“Are you looking for a bite to eat?”

“Er… maybe.”

“Feel free to take a look, then.” She gestured with her head towards the door. The sign above it had a loaf of bread on it. “Don’t let the sign fool you, we do a lot of stuff.”

“Ah… right.”

The inside of the store smelled like fresh bread, cheese, and roasting meat. The bread lined one wall, with sweets in the corner and cheese and meats below the open front windows. “Take your time,” the woman said.

“Thank you, uh…” Fareeha trailed off, waiting.

“Brigitte. And your name is..?”

“Fareeha.” Fareeha was already distracted by the good smell.

“Nice to meet you, Fareeha. Shout if you need something.” She disappeared behind the counter, humming.

Fareeha was particularly enamoured with the sweets—sugar tended to be expensive, especially this far away from any major city. Brigitte seemed to appreciate her excitement; it turned out she had a bit of a sweet tooth herself. A lot of a sweet tooth, actually. She insisted that it was a “trade secret” when Fareeha asked her how she actually got her ingredients. Fareeha raised an eyebrow at that, but she decided that it seemed innocuous enough, and if it meant she got relatively cheap dessert, she was happy.

In the end, she picked out some bread, a few skewers of roasted meat and vegetables, a pair of small fried fish, and a bit of sugar-glazed sweetbread, at Brigitte’s suggestion.

“By the way,” Fareeha said, as she counted out the money, “That cat that everyone told me about…”

Brigitte laughed. “Are you going to try to catch her?”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to, I’m sure.” Fareeha deposited the money neatly in Brigitte’s waiting palm. “Does she have a name? Everyone’s just called her ‘The Cat’. Or ‘It’.”

“Her name’s Mercy.”

“Mercy?” Fareeha thought about that. “Huh. Nice name.”

“In contrast, the cat herself is absolutely merciless,” Brigitte said, wrapping the food in paper. “She can and will run circles around you.”

“So I’ve heard.” Fareeha picked up the bundles and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Come again anytime, you hear?” Brigitte tapped her chin, thoughtfully. “Unless we’re closed, I mean.”

Fareeha chuckled and raised a hand in both acknowledgement and farewell as she stepped out the door. She walked down to the river to eat.

“Mao.” Fareeha looked up. The cat was sitting under the bridge, perched on one of the larger stones and staring intently at the food in Fareeha’s hands.

Fareeha frowned at her. “Where did you disappear off to?”

The cat gave her a lazy glance and went back to staring at the food.

“Just steal my money, why don’t you?” Still, Fareeha laid everything out in her lap, selected a fish, and proffered it.

The cat pricked her ears, dropped off the rock, and crept closer. She sniffed the air, and darted in, snatching up the fish and darting back to her rock. She polished it off with neat, fast bites, and began eyeing Fareeha again.

Fareeha sacrificed a few pieces of meat and half of the other fish. The cat stayed longer each time, but always retreated again to go back to watching with those wide, blue eyes.

“What?” Fareeha said, at long last. She folded up the papers around the skewers. “I don’t have any more.”

The cat’s tail twitched. She turned her head to look pointedly at the sweetbread.

“I’m pretty sure that’s bad for you,” Fareeha said, already breaking off a small piece. “If your mystery woman of an owner finds out, I’m going to get scolded for this.” She held it out, punched between her fingers. The cat crept closer, as per usual, but instead of darting in like a little white blur, she stretched out her neck, sniffed, pulled her lips back, and delicately used her teeth to pick it from between Fareeha’s fingers.

“That was the most expensive part of all this, so I hope you appreciate it.” The cat, in response, merely licked her chops and turned her attention to the remaining bread.

Fareeha held it out of reach and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Were you listening to what I just said? You’re going to get sick.”

The cat meowed plaintively, and twitched her whiskers. “You don’t know that,” Fareeha replied.

Fareeha could have sworn that Mercy rolled her eyes. She hopped onto Fareeha’s knee and reached up, craning her neck. Fareeha just barely managed to get over her own surprise and move the bread out of reach before she could get her teeth in it. The cat hopped to the ground again and circled her, mewing again. She sat down, curled her tail around her paws, and blinked innocently at Fareeha.

“Fine. One more,” Fareeha said, holding up a finger. “And just the little bit!” She broke off another piece, held it out, and quickly ate the rest, keeping an eye out. Just in case that cat decided to try and snatch it from her hands.

The cat, it seemed, had accepted the terms, settling instead for lapping at her paws and combing them over her ears. The key flashed and bobbed with the movement. Fareeha propped her chin up on her hand and watched. “So,” she said, “Brigitte said your name was ‘Mercy’.”

The cat—Mercy, that is—looked up. Fareeha hummed. “Guess she was right.” She tilted her head. “Most cats with white fur and blue eyes are deaf, aren’t they?” Mercy flicked an ear. “I guess you’re lucky,” Fareeha continued, idly.

Mercy meowed, stood up, and with a few bounds was gone, leaping from stone to bridge to fence post to tree to roof. Fareeha watched her go. “Goodbye, I guess,” she muttered.

After a while, she got up, dusted herself off, and, with one last look around, walked away.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha didn’t really have plans, so she decided to linger in the town, helping out where she could and simply wandering around when there was no extra work to do. Most days, she’d end up running into Mercy again. She usually bought something to share between the two of them, and they would sit and eat together while Fareeha chatted about whatever was on her mind. It was almost freeing. The cat was a good listener. She even brought money, sometimes, to pay for the food. Fareeha didn’t ask where it came from, and Mercy didn’t answer.

As the spring wore on and the days grew longer and warmer, the flowers began to bloom. After the early bloomers—the irises, tulips, and pansies—the rest began to show their petals and paint the town with pink, purple, blue, and white.

 

It was late spring when Fareeha found herself near the flowering house again. The roses had unfurled, the rich, red blossoms climbing over the walls. The window planters were full now too, throwing up feathery fronds and clusters of tiny white flowers. Bushes of lavender had bloomed around the base of the house. Fareeha stopped to breathe in, enjoying the fragrances lacing the air.

There was a movement in the window. Fareeha had just enough time to turn and look before it was pushed open, and someone leaned out.

They weren’t lying when they said she was pretty.

“Good morning,” she called.

“Good morning. Sorry,” Fareeha blurted, trying to find her words. For whatever reason, the woman at the window grinned at that. “Am I… I mean, do you want me to leave?”

She shrugged. “You’re hardly causing a disturbance, are you?”

“Oh,” Fareeha said. “Okay. I was just…” She gestured vaguely to the flowers. “Admiring. You have a skill with plants.”

The woman inclined her head. “Thank you, but most of these grow fairly well on their own.”

“Then perhaps they just like you.”

Her smile widened. “Maybe so.”

Fareeha fidgeted, searching for something to say. “I’m glad to know you actually exist,” she said at last. “I was beginning to think that whole tale was a joke.”

“What, with my cat?” She leaned her head on one hand, idly threading her fingers through her hair. “That would be an elaborate joke, to be certain. No, I’m usually just out and about only in the early, early morning.”

“I see. And here I thought I was an early riser.” Fareeha shook her head. “Your cat, her name’s Mercy?”

“Indeed it is. She likes to wander. I take it you’ve met her?”

“I have. I like to wander too, sometimes.” Fareeha decided to not mention the whole food thing. That money had probably come from here. “She’s a lovely cat,” she added.

She received a laugh in response. “Some of the people around here would say otherwise.”

“That’s their fault. They want something from her that she doesn’t want to give.” Fareeha leaned on the hedge, ignoring the prickle of twigs. “They’re just angry that the cat’s smarter and faster than they are.”

Another laugh rang through the air. “What am interesting position to take!”

“Am I wrong?” The laughter granted Fareeha some confidence. She offered up a small smile. “But I’m new in town, so I don’t know the whole of it, I suppose. The name’s Fareeha.”

“Angela.” Her eyes softened. They were blue, blue like the river.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Angela.” Fareeha inclined her head. She pushed off the hedge, and brushed herself off.

“Yes,” Angela murmured, as Fareeha began to walk away, “it was.”

 

As spring faded into summer, Fareeha found herself taking more and more walks down the side path by Angela’s house, until she came by with regularity almost every evening. In the beginning, Angela was only there some days, but she was always happy to open a window and chat for a bit. As Fareeha settled into a routine, so did she, and as time passed she found herself getting into the habit of being at the window every evening at around the same time Fareeha walked by.

 

On one occasion, Fareeha wrapped up some strawberries and blackberries in a cloth and gave them to Mercy in the afternoon, with stern orders to not eat them, especially because she wasn’t sure if they were safe for cats or not. When Angela saw her that evening, she disappeared from her window and quickly reappeared with a strawberry in her hand.

“Was this you?” She asked.

Fareeha nodded, only a little bit sheepishly. “They were good, so I thought you might appreciate some.

“They _are_ good!” Angela beamed. “Thank you!”

The next day, Mercy shoved a parcel of waxed paper into Fareeha’s hands, which she unwrapped to reveal a chunk of oozing, golden honeycomb. It was sticky, sweet, and delicious.

“Thank you,” Fareeha said, on instinct. She quickly corrected herself. “I mean, thank Angela for me.”

Mercy sat down, and meowed. Fareeha eyed her. “I’d give you some, but I’m pretty sure honey is actually dangerous for cats.”

Mercy meowed again. It was a fairly neutral sound, Fareeha thought. Like she was saying, “Fair enough.”

 

They started swapping gifts after that, with the cat acting as courier. It was mostly food, but sometimes there were other things. Fareeha once made a flower crown out of wildflowers that she had found, and looped it around Mercy’s neck. Angela retaliated with a similar crown, except this one made of roses, and Fareeha took the long way home, using those back alleys and hidden paths that Mercy had taught her about to avoid being seen. There was, after all, only one place in town where roses grew, and she didn’t feel like explaining why she might have some to anyone else.

 

* * *

 

The days got busy when autumn came, and with it brought the harvest season. Fareeha, as ever, was glad to help with the preparations, and, eventually, the actual harvesting. The downside, of course, was that Fareeha woke up early and went to sleep late, and had little time in between to explore with or talk to Mercy (though that cat always found her on her lunch break, and always managed to steal a bit of the food away). She also stopped walking around the flowering house after dinner, because she thought it was kind of strange to lurk around someone’s home after dark.

She said as much to Mercy, once, while eating in the shade of a tree. “I hope she’s not taking it the wrong way,” Fareeha said. “I wish I had time to say I’m sorry for disappearing on her, though.” Then, she gave the cat an apple, which was Mercy accepted and held daintily by the stem before whisking her tail along Fareeha’s side and scampering off.

A few days later, she got a note from Angela asking, if she wasn’t too tired, that is, if she wanted to do some stargazing the next night. Fareeha _was_ tired, but she couldn’t decline, and her quiet excitement carried her through the next day.

She noticed a candle in the window when she walked up to the house that night, its flame small and pale in the darkness. Angela appeared at the sound of her footsteps, and waved enthusiastically as she drew near. “You came!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Fareeha smiled, though that quickly faded, her eyebrows creasing. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. The work ‘days’ are going into the night.”

“That’s what I figured,” Angela said, quietly. “I am up late at night, however, so if you ever want to talk…”

“Staying up late and waking up early…” Fareeha raised an eyebrow at that. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Sometimes,” Angela replied, serenely, and didn’t elaborate further.

Instead, she looked out to the sky. “It’s a nice night out tonight.”

“It is. Though…” Angela gave Fareeha a curious look as she continued. “I don’t know much about stars. I only know how to tell the navigate with them.”

Angela’s voice was suddenly shy. “I could teach you?”

“I would like that.”

And so, Fareeha leaned on the hedge and looked up, while Angela named the stars and explained their stories and symbolisms, alongside the constellations they formed.

“I shouldn’t keep you up,” she said, breaking off after a long while.

“It’s alright,” Fareeha replied. Her eyelids were heavy, but the sheer joy and passion for the subject in Angela’s voice was more than worth it to her.

Angela shook her head. “No, you’re tired, and you need to be awake early tomorrow. Don’t let me keep you any longer, and have a good night, alright?”

“If you insist,” Fareeha drawled. She straightened up, stretched and began to make her way back to the street that would take her to the inn.

“And be careful walking home!” Angela called after her.

“I will, don’t worry!” Fareeha called back.

 

Angela had a candle in the window again the next night, and the night after that, and so Fareeha got back into the habit of stopping by to talk again, and picking up some lessons on the moon and stars. Angela was well-versed in them, it seemed.

 

The harvest (or at least Fareeha’s part of it) was completed late one frosty morning. Naturally, she decided to celebrate by finding a nice clearing in the woods and just laying down in the grass, as one does. She was interrupted from what would have probably been a pretty mediocre nap by small paws on her back.

Fareeha cracked her eyes open, her head pillowed on her arms. “Hello.” She put one hand somewhere over her shoulders, and waited until a soft cat head pressed into her palm. She scratched behind the ear, and was received with a chirrup and a rumble of a purr. “I don’t have food for you today, I’m afraid.” She sighed, and closed her eyes again. “It’s been a good season, though, don’t you think?”

The cat meowed. Fareeha chuckled. “Sorry, I wish I had something for you right now. I’m just tired today.” She groaned. “All that work is catching up to me… but you seem well, so I’m glad.”

There was another meow in her ear. Fareeha put her hand back beneath her head. “Do you want to just… relax for a bit?”

The paws on her back started moving. Fareeha felt them clamber onto her head, then leap, and heard the cat land in the grass. There was a third meow. Fareeha didn’t move until she got a lick on the cheek. She opened her eyes again.

Mercy was standing right in front of her, peering at her face. When she opened her eyes, the cat lifted her head, the key dangling by its thin chain before her nose. She waited, then lowered and turned her head, showing Fareeha the back of her neck, where the necklace clasp was.

Fareeha stared, her mind trying to process it. Finally, it clicked. She propped herself up on her elbows. “Are you… giving it to me?” Her voice was hushed with disbelief.

The cat mewed and waved her tail. Fareeha sat up, and, holding her breath, slowly reached out, carefully undoing the clasp. As soon as the chain was off, Mercy shook herself out and darted into the trees, in the direction of that northeasternmost house.

Fareeha sat in the clearing for a moment longer, staring at the small, silver key in her hand. She suddenly looked up and scrambled to her feet, setting off in pursuit of the cat, who was, of course, long gone, having disappeared into the undergrowth.

Fareeha ran through the forest, back to the dirt trail, down into the cobblestone streets, across the bridge, through more cobblestone streets, and up one neat lane towards a house covered in and surrounding by flowers. “Angela!” She called, before stopping to catch her breath at the white wood gate.

The door opened. Angela gave her a bemused look. “Someone’s in a rush today.”

“Yes. Um, good morning, Angela.”

“Good morning to you as well.” Angela leaned against the doorframe, one hand still resting on the handle.

“Angela, I…” Fareeha suddenly found herself struggling to find words. Angela smiled, patiently. Fareeha put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the chain, the key dangling from around the middle. “Your cat… gave it to me.”

“I’d say it was more like she let you take it, if you wanted it,” Angela remarked. Her smile widened into a grin. “That’s not actually my cat.”

Fareeha stared at her, brow furrowing slightly. “She’s certainly not your dog,” she said, before clapping a hand over her mouth. “I mean—Sorry, that just came out!” She explained, as Angela started to laugh.

“I should probably introduce myself properly. I am what is most simply described as a shapeshifter.” She smiled, gentle and easy, and inclined her head in a small bow. “My name is Angela Ziegler, but some people call me ‘Mercy’. Now, would you like to come in for lunch, or at least tea? It’s about time I started to repay you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Actually, based more closely off of [the tumblr version](https://siniristiriita.tumblr.com/post/184616003264/story-idea-the-most-wanted-woman-in-town-has) of the prompt, but you'll understand why I put this at the end)
> 
> Regarding some of the foods mentioned: Strawberries and blackberries are fine for cats to eat—the main concern with these is a choking hazard. Honey and other sugary foods are alright in small amounts, but not recommended, since cats derive little benefit from it, can have problems digesting it when ingested in larger quantities, and can't taste sweetness anyways (or at least can't taste it very well). Feed your kitties responsibly! Unless they're magical.


	9. A Scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Civilian/Modern AU
> 
> Fareeha makes a bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little break from the fantasy that I'm so fond of. This is based very loosely off of another tumblr post that I'm sure at least some of you will be familiar with, but appears to have been since deleted.
> 
> Additionally: AU in which they're somewhere within North America, because I apparently struggle with not using certain slang words for money.

“Hey.” Angela jumped, her thoughts snapping back into focus. The voice at her elbow was loud, to be heard over the din of the bar. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No… not at all.” Angela closed her eyes and sighed, trying to relax her fingers from where they’d instinctively clenched around her drink.

“Can I get your number?” Angela’s eyes snapped open again, her head turning. She was met with a friendly, even gaze. The stranger was tall, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, and presently leaning with one elbow on the counter. “Sorry to be so sudden. I bet that guy over there,” she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “20 dollars that I could get your number within 5 minutes. I’ll split it with you.”

Angela followed her finger, spotting a slightly scruffy, bearded man almost across the room nursing a glass of some amber liquor and watching with a mixture of both curiosity and smug triumph. 

Angela’s eyes slid back to the woman, studying her face. After a moment, she ventured a small laugh. “Sounds like fun.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket.

The stranger brightened, like a puppy that’s just seen her human come home from work. “Really? I appreciate it!” She pulled out her own phone, and opened her contacts with a flick of the thumb. Angela held her phone up and let her copy the number down while she finished the last of her drink.

“The name’s Fareeha,” she said, offering Angela a hand.

“Angela.” Angela smiled, and shook her hand. Fareeha had a strong, firm grip, but not an uncomfortable one. Angela’s smile widened just slightly.

“Nice to meet you!” Fareeha grinned. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

With that, she turned, slipping back into the crowd. Angela watched as she made her way back to her friend, and they exchanged a few words. Fareeha shrugged, opened her phone, and tapped something on it. Sure enough, Angela’s lit up. She idly tapped out a reply and raised her eyebrows at the two.

Fareeha held out her hand, as if to say,  _ “Pay up.”  _ Despite the disbelief etched clearly on his face, the man did produce a crumpled bill, dropping it with a scowl in her palm. She smoothed it out, re-folded it, and made a small, theatrical bow.

Angela quickly looked away as Fareeha made her way back across the room. She slid into the seat next to Angela and held up the bill. “Well, this is hard to split.” She tilted it between her fingers. “Considering it’s all in one piece.” She looked to Angela and smiled that bright, warm smile again. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Worth exactly 10 dollars?” Angela laughed. “I could go for a shot, perhaps, but I shouldn’t drink much more tonight.”

“I can respect that. Is whiskey alright, then?” At Angela’s nod, Fareeha turned away, catching the bartender’s attention. She held up two fingers and said something that was drowned out by the noise of the crowd, facing away as she was.

The bartender nodded, and soon returned to set two shots of whiskey down. A moment later, a glass of water followed, set in front of Angela. Fareeha raised her glass. “Cheers.” She downed it in one go. 

Angela raised an eyebrow, but responded in kind. “Thank you.”

Fareeha propped her chin up on one hand. “I’ll figure out how to get the rest of the money to you.”

Angela lifted the water to her lips. She cast an amused glance at Fareeha. “Does this mean I’ll be seeing you again?”

Fareeha shrugged. “Maybe. Probably.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Tell you what, I’ll keep trying to convince Jesse over there to ‘gamble’ his money. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

“More plotting? How exciting.” The corner of Angela’s mouth curled up in a smirk. “I’ll look out for it.”

“Oh and,” Fareeha said, her voice suddenly soft. “Get home safe, alright? It really was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.” Angela set her glass down. “And don’t worry. I’ll be alright. I can handle myself.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fareeha settled back. “Have a good night, Angela!”

Angela stood. “You as well, Fareeha,” she replied, trying her name on her tongue. She threw a wave over her shoulder as she wove her way through the crowded room, and pushed out into the night.


	10. Until the Break of Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mermaid/Goddesses AU
> 
> In which the personification of the ocean and the personification of the moon meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What kind of a content creator would I be, if I didn't do something for MerMay? I know the common pairing with Atlantic Mercy recently has been Orbital Pharah, but I've always liked the relationship between the moon and the ocean.

_They say that ocean has been in love with the moon for as long as anyone can remember._

 

* * *

 

Fareeha looked up through the waves, the silvery-white disc of the moon reflecting in her eyes. It was scattered by the water, flecked and distorted through the ripples. Fareeha huffed, gills and fins flaring. She circled, carving a smooth figure 8 through the water before breaking away.

Fareeha grasped at the dark, rough stone, muscles rippling in exertion as she pulled herself out of the water, lungs burning in the thin air. The foam of the waves swirled over her scales and fins, powerful and graceful in the water, but now awkward and heavy outside of it. Fareeha dragged herself to the top of the outcropping, gasping. She curled her tail around the stone, holding herself steady, and looked up.

The sky was a cloudless, endless black, dusted with glimmering stars. The moon was clear and beautiful, shining brightly up above. Even with the expanse of air and space between them, it looked closer than it had ever been before. Fareeha had to catch her breath, both from the climb, and from the view.

“Hello.” Fareeha jerked around, almost falling off her perch. There was a woman standing next to her, glowing faintly in the darkness. “What are you doing?”

“I was…” Fareeha looked up. “Just looking at the moon.”

The woman smiled. “Oh?”

Fareeha looked back at her, and frowned. “Where did you come from?”

She shrugged. “I’ve always been here.”

“Have you?” Fareeha eyed her, incredulous, but didn’t question it. She supposed it was as good an explanation as any. The woman was magical, she was sure, with her soft, purple hair and shining blue jewels.

“And why are you all the way out here?” She looked Fareeha over. “You look like you are of the ocean.”

“More true than you know,” Fareeha muttered. She shook her head. “It’s hard to get a clear view from below the waves.”

“So you climbed up here?”

“I just…” Fareeha shrugged, rubbing one arm. “It looks closer from up here.”

“She.”

“Sorry?”

“The moon. She prefers ‘she’.”

“Ah. My bad.” Fareeha settled down and went back to gazing at the moon, wonder lacing her voice. “She’s beautiful.”

“Not quite as beautiful as the ocean.” Her voice was quiet, but there was a smile in the sound of it.

Fareeha looked around, frowning. “And who are you to say that?”

The woman’s smile widened into more of a cheeky grin than anything. She crouched down on her little ledge of rock, and extended a hand, her palm filling with a silvery glow. “Angela. The moon spirit.”

Fareeha drew back, eyes widening. She glanced at the proffered hand, and cautiously extended her own, face burning. “Fareeha.” She trailed off, then cleared her throat. “The ocean spirit.”

Angela’s eyes took on a pleased glimmer, as if she’d guessed that correctly. “Well, now we both look like sentimental fools, don’t we?” She clasped Fareeha’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You as well,” Fareeha replied. Angela’s silvery-blue glow reflected, shimmering, across her body.

“Are you alright here?” Angela looked down. “So far out of the water?”

“As long as the tide is in.” Fareeha watched the water lap over the tips of her fins. “I’ll be gone by daybreak, but…” She looked up, searching Angela’s eyes. “I don’t think that will be an issue.”

Angela smiled. “I might just surprise you.” She sat down, crossing her legs. “The sun is often willing to share the daytime sky.”

“I’ll have to keep an eye out all the time, then.”

Angela laughed. “You’re sweet, you know? I’ll be out at night and only at night when I’m full.” She nodded up at the round circle in the sky. “Like tonight.”

“Ah, so I was right, then.” Fareeha scooted over, making some more room for Angela to sit. She straightened up, head tilted back again to the sky. Angela, in contrast, lowered her body, crossed her arms and lowered her head, propping her chin up, looking out over the horizon.

They sat together for the rest of the night, one pair of eyes watching the sky, another watching the sea. When the glow of the sun appeared faint and grey under the horizon, they each made their farewells, and they parted ways, slipping away to their respective realms.

More importantly, each made a promise that they would see each other again.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Fareeha would look up, through the rushing water, and see the moon in the sky, and her heart would suddenly be lighter, and the waves would reach up, as if to say hello. And sometimes Angela would walk by the beach and trail her fingers in the water, sending shivers of light over the waves, smiling as they lapped over her hands. Wherever the other was, she knew, and the next time they saw each other face to face, they would share a small smile, as if they had a secret between them.

Fareeha had many charges, denizens of the water that she guarded. She showed them to Angela, sometimes, when she pulled herself out of the water to talk to her, scales shimmering with every shade of blue imaginable. One night, she propped herself up, coiled on the beach, and pointed.

Angela followed her gaze to see a large, dark shape crawling out of the water, laboriously clambering past the tide line on awkward, leathery flippers. Further away, another one poked its head out of the foam, and also began to crawl up the beach. “Turtles,” Fareeha said, the delight obvious in her voice.

“Is that what they’re called?” Angela watched them make their ponderous treks up to the dry sand. “Why do they do that?”

“They’re making nests above the waterline. They hatch on the land, but return always to the sea.”

“I see.”

Fareeha hesitated only a split second before muttering, “No, I sea.”

Angela smacked her lightly on the shoulder. “You’re awful.”

“I’m funny.” Fareeha laughed, tail flicking some water over Angela. “And you know it!”

“I refuse to encourage you.” Angela shoved Fareeha into the water, smiling. “How dare you!”

“Wait, really!” Fareeha poked her head out of the water, tail swirling in the surf. “Come back in…” She looked at the turtles, and frowned. “Two months, or so.”

“Or so?”

“It takes them about two to three months, but it’ll be worth it! I promise.” Fareeha frowned. “63 nights, exactly, if you start counting at the next night.” She made a gesture with her fingers. “So tomorrow night’s number one, and so on.”

Angela looked up, then around, committing the beach to memory. “I’ll be here.”

“Good!” Fareeha dipped below the water with a parting wave.

 

Exactly 63 nights later, Angela returned to the beach, standing among the tidepools. Fareeha pulled herself out of the water and onto the stones beside her. “So, what is it that you wanted to show me so badly?” Angela began.

“Shh.” Fareeha pointed at the sand, smoothed featureless by the wind and tide. “Look.”

“Wh…” Angela trailed off as the sand began to shift. A small dark shape poked out of it, and, tiny fins paddling, scrambled out of the sand. Another followed, then another. Within minutes, the beach was covered in small shapes, making their way to the ocean, dimpling the sand in their wake.

“They’re hatching,” Fareeha said, the delight clear in her voice. She stretched out, scooping up a small hatchling wandering too close to the rocks.

Angela leaned over, watching as the little turtle flapped its flippers and turned around in a circle, apparently confused. “It’s… adorable.” She reached out a hand, eyes glancing up to Fareeha’s. Fareeha nodded. Angela ran one finger gently over its back, feeling the grooves on the shell. “It’s so small,” she whispered.

Fareeha nodded, smiling, though not without a touch of sadness. “It has a long road ahead of it. They will become part of the ocean… one way or another.” She lowered the hatchling to the sand, letting it slip off her hand. She brightened. “But do you know something interesting?”

“Hm?”

Fareeha turned to look at Angela. “They tend to go towards the brightest area, looking for light in the sky and reflected on the water. Light like, say…”

“The moon?” Angela returned the smile as Fareeha beamed and nodded.

“The open sky and the water are brighter than the land, after all.” Fareeha turned back to the horizon. “So, the two of us together…”

Angela turned to look out as well, the light of the moon forming a shining path over the water. She carefully reached out, fingers grazing over the slick scales, the smooth skin, wrapping her arms around Fareeha’s waist. Angela quietly propped her chin on Fareeha’s shoulder, wet hair tickling her cheek. She was surprisingly warm.

After a moment, Fareeha turned her head a little. “Angela…”

“Shh.” Angela turned, and lightly brushed a kiss against her ear. “This is nice.”

Fareeha hesitated, and tentatively leaned back. “Alright.” She nestled into Angela, sighing. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course I like it.” Angela idly kissed Fareeha again, this time on the cheek. “You’re as sweet as ever.”

“So are you,” Fareeha murmured.

“Oh hush.”

 

They sat together, as usual, until the break of dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send prompts/requests my way. I can't make any promises, but I'm always open to new ideas!


End file.
